


On My Way To Easy

by stratumgermanitivum, whiskeyandspite



Series: Easy Street [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Belting, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Abuse of Angel, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual BDSM, Dirty Talk, Dominant/submissive relationship, Establishing Relationship, Fluff, Heavy BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Off-Screen and On-Screen Abuse, Possessive Val, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Spanking, Voyeurism, instructions, possessive alastor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28160589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratumgermanitivum/pseuds/stratumgermanitivum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: Slowly, the man’s head returned to the upright position. His smile stretched wider, sharper at the edges. When he spoke, the static had receded to a minimum, and his soft voice sounded almost as if he was in the same room, and not broadcasting from miles away. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”“The man who thinks he can run up my time for free?”Angel meets a weird demon as he walks the streets one day, and he isn't scared of him. They go back to his place and... don't... have sex?
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Male Character(s), Angel Dust/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel)
Series: Easy Street [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141313
Comments: 393
Kudos: 618





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay we had some personal headcanons in here that we'll list at the bottom, but our most/main one is that Al is _bright_ and _loud_ and _ecstatic_ when he needs to be, otherwise he's just... himself. Polite and oldfashioned and creepy, as he was in the prequel comic. Don't worry, though, brightloudecstatic Alastor definitely makes an appearance.

What the hell was going on in Hell?

Angel had seen slow nights before, but this was unprecedented. Had he missed a raid? A turf war? A PTA meeting?

“Jeez, where the fuck is everybody?” he kicked aside a barbed wire tumbleweed and moved on to the next block. He had a quota tonight, time to make up for. He’d not been in the studio -- again -- when Val had come to check on him and that hadn’t… ended well. According to him, Angel now owed the lighting team, the sound guys, set dressers, fluffers, and the gang that was meant to bang him money and ass for wasting their time. And Val for wasting his.

And Val took with interest; Angel was still limping a bit from the deposit.

A few cars slinked past like alleycats but none stopped, and the few characters he saw on the street weren’t interested. Angel paused, brow furrowed, and slipped another cigarette between his lips.

“Lame.”

The place was like a graveyard. Literally. Even the headstones looked more hellish than usual.

He felt a presence behind him before he heard the footsteps, and tensed up. Someone was walking slowly, deliberately, down the street. Like they were taking a stroll. A stroll through Hell.

_ What the fuck? _

Angel turned, stepping off to the side a little, to let the man pass.

Average height, for Hell, red coat, good taste, messy hair. A  _ cane. _ Who the fuck used a  _ cane  _ anymore? There were no long-term injuries in hell, not unless an angel fucked you up or you found a piece of their blade and shanked someone. This man didn’t look like the type to easily be shanked, he looked  _ loaded. _

Someone came out of a store not three doors down, and immediately zipped across the road and hid behind a dumpster.

“Smooth,” Angel snorted, eyeing the trash, and flicked his cigarette. “Real smooth, fucko.”

The man paused, turning to look over his shoulder. Angel shrugged. “You’re scaring off the johns, man, can ya walk a little faster?”

The way the guy’s head tilted made him look broken. Angel tried to imitate it and got a crick in his neck.

“Perhaps if you smiled, my dear,” the voice was crackled, like it came through a badly tuned radio. Angel was immediately thrown back to a time he was alive, fiddling with the tuner trying to get his own radio to play without static. “More work would come your way.”

Angel gave the man an incredulous look. They all committed to the bit around here, Angel included, but this man… This man  _ was _ the bit, his voice that perfect, smooth, mid atlantic accent that Angel grew up listening to. 

“I charge extra to act like you’re good at it,” he drawled, and watched as the man’s head tilted just a bit further, owlish and eldritch. 

“You wouldn’t go to the store half-naked, would you?” The man asked. “Then why go to work without a smile on that charming face?”

From any old john, it would have sounded like a pick up line, even if it had been sarcastic. From this guy, compliments sounded like honey traps. 

Behind the man, someone rounded the corner and then immediately spun and fled back whence they’d come. 

Angel glanced down at his body, upper half modestly dressed, though with a bit of fluffed up fur mimicking cleavage from the collar of his shirt, lower half clad only in hot pants and thigh-high heels, then looked back up at the stranger with one eyebrow raised. “You think I wouldn’t go to the store half naked?” He asked. “Little slow on the uptake, ain’t ya?”

Slowly, the man’s head returned to the upright position. His smile stretched wider, sharper at the edges. When he spoke, the static had receded to a minimum, and his soft voice sounded almost as if he was in the same room, and not broadcasting from miles away. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

“The man who thinks he can run up my time for free?”

There was a flicker at the corner of Angel’s eye and he slid his gaze away from the man in front of him to catch it. Nothing. Probably just another moron trying to hide in the trash. When he turned back, though, the man was  _ much _ closer to him.

“Jesus fuck, ever hear of personal space?”

“You’re absolutely  _ delightful,” _ came the answer, and Angel felt something in him grow warm. It was said so earnestly, and in a voice that was just somehow so familiar, the everyvoice that spoke at Angel through the radio when he’d been little, reading bedtime stories or introducing the news.

Happier times.

“Thanks…” he replied, unsure how to move  _ away _ when he wasn’t certain he  _ wanted  _ to get away. “Compliments don’t pay the bills, though, so…”

“Have you had much luck this evening?” the stranger asked, setting his cane between his feet and resting both hands on it. “I’ve found my stroll to be… rather uneventful. I’m eager for company.”

“I’m  _ great _ company,” Angel grinned, gold tooth on display. “What’re you after? Keep in mind, you go off-menu and I charge extra.”

“Merely a companion to walk with me awhile,” the other replied. “Reminisce, perhaps, about the good times up above.”

Angel made a sound, displeased but quiet. Jeez. A walk didn’t pay the bills either.

“I’ll suck your cock for ten bucks?” he offered instead.

The bark of laughter made the tufts of hair on the man’s head shift curiously, as ears would. “No, thank you.”

“Then I can’t help ya.”

“Is a walk really such a chore? You’re walking already, are you not?”

“Yeah,” Angel shrugged. “But you seem to have a voodoo hoodoo creepy field around you or somethin’. I need  _ money _ , and money comes from  _ people _ . You seem to ward people off.”

“But not you.”

Angel tilted, perfectly balanced even as he arched his back and ran his lower set over arms over the curve of his hips, ending over his bare thighs, tips of his fingers caressing the top of his boots. “Look at me, I’m a welcome mat.”

The man looked. Down, then back up, slow, but not lingering. His expression didn’t change. Angel sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Most people,  _ normal _ people, take one look at the goods and fork over the cash. If I’m havin’ a bad night, it’s because somethin’s spooked ‘em.”

“Ah, yes, normalcy,” The man said, with a knowing nod. “There’s such a wealth of it in Hell.”

“People are people, whether they’re human or whatever the fuck freaks like you an’ me are. They have needs.”

“I’m sure they do,” the man murmured, his eyes narrowed, taking in the cock of Angel’s hips. “Suppose I pay you for your time?” he suggested, offering Angel his arm. “What’s the going rate for you to escort me a few blocks?”

Angel blinked. “What?”

“You’re an escort, are you not?” the other raised an eyebrow. “Escort me.”

Angel considered the other things he was usually called in his line of work. Slut. Whore. Back alley bitch. Not worth the time.

Escort sounded like a pay raise.

“Hundred bucks a block,” Angel offered next. The man laughed again.

“You sell yourself short, my dear, but I am happy to start with that.”

Angel couldn’t come up with a clapback just then. This was all too weird. He half expected to be thrown into the first reeking bin they passed and fucked over the edge of it; at least that would be typical. But this guy. This  _ guy. _

Angel slipped his arm through the stranger’s and kept pace as they started to walk. Angel noticed that now, before running to scurry away somewhere, those that caught the stranger’s eye immediately noticed Angel there and trembled. That was… something.

“So who are you?” Angel asked at length, looking over at the man. He held himself like… like something that had stepped out of the talkies, but in full technicolor. It was eerie; and few things in Hell creeped Angel out anymore.

“You may call me Alastor,” his companion replied. “And you?”

Angel smiled wide enough to show off his gold tooth. “Angel Dust,” he said, with a heavy lidded look that had worked on every demon who’d crossed his path so far… and got nothing but a wide, blank smile in return. “The porn star,” he added, feeling a stab of… was that mortification? Did he feel shame again? Boy, that was an emotion that had grown cobwebs decades ago.

But it was one thing to be recognized; Angel  _ revelled _ in the fame. It was another thing entirely to  _ not _ be recognized, and then have to explain to a classy guy in some kinda tux that you let people come on your face on camera for a living. 

“Ah,” Alastor said, the first true emotion tinting his voice. That emotion happened to be disgust, and Angel was about to point out the hypocrisy of hiring a hooker and then condemning porn, when Alastor followed it up with a disdainful “ _ talkies.” _

“What, they didn’t have motion pictures when you’re from?” There were demons older than Angel around, of course, both by decades and by centuries, but except for born-demon powerhouses like Val, most of the guys Angel knew were from the 20th century on. When you got old, you got comfortable, complacent, and you were an easy target for the Exorcists. 

“We did,” Alastor said, with a wrinkle of his nose, “But they were a special occasion, and they never quite capture the feeling of a good radio show, I feel. Images preserved eternally in silver, unchanging, growing duller by the day. I prefer my entertainment  _ lively _ .”

Angel snorted. “My life is pretty lively.”

“Still,” Alastor sniffed, haughty, “not quite how I enjoy my entertainment.”

“Yeah?” A real laugh this time, Angel tightened his hold on Alastor’s arm as they crossed by the mouth of an alley, more from trained response than anything else. “What, you need Great Moments In History, huh? Sam and fucking Henry?”

Alastor came to a stop so abruptly, that when Angel kept walking and found his arm yanked back, he yelped.

_ “Easy,” _

“You remember Great Moments In History?” Alastor asked, his voice strangely lilted, almost… nostalgic? Hopeful? Angel wasn’t well acquainted with hope much anymore, but he guessed that was it.

“Well not all of ‘em,” Angel snorted. “But yeah I listened. Used to love that shit growin’ up,” he replied.

For a moment, the man was silent, red eyes fixed on Angel in such a way that he felt almost seen  _ through, _ it was unnerving but oddly welcome. He wasn’t being groped with a gaze, in fact, for the first time in his goddamn unlife he wasn’t being looked at by anyone else. It felt… special somehow.

“What a curious creature you are,” Alastor said finally. Angel shrugged.

“Doesn’t pay to be predictable,” he replied. “Seriously, we don’t even have scripts anymore. It’s just,” he made a crude gesture with one hand against another, a third turning a circle with his fingertip near his temple.  _ “Nuts. _ Honestly, talkies would be easier to work with.”

“Not much talking in pornography,” Alastor commented, starting to walk again, Angel keeping pace.

“Not unless you count sound effects.” Angel shrugged. They’d walked five blocks, by his count, the money was adding up. And while Alastor looked like he was made of money, Angel needed to see the goods before he could commit to walking the nine damn circles with some voodoo demon. “Where’re we goin’ anyway?”

“I have a charming little apartment on Beezle Avenue, you’ll  _ love _ the view.”

Ahhh there it was. Alastor talked a good game, put on a fantastic show of not being interested, but he was a man, after all (of a sort) and all men were the same once they got Angel alone. Even in life, when he’d been skinny but not quite so alluringly so, his curves not quite the same, the heights of burlesque fashion made for masculine bodies still a few decades out of reach, they’d all been the same. 

Well, Angel knew how to earn his dough. Look pretty, talk pretty, and do whatever the customer wanted, even if it was stupid. Even if it hurt. 

_ Especially _ if it hurt. Angel had learned to appreciate the finer aspects of pain, down here in Hell, and there was no rule saying he couldn’t have a little fun himself. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life, as the saying went. 

And he did love his job. He did. He had to. It wasn’t like there were other jobs lined up. It was love this job, or throw himself in front of the Exorcists next year, because if he  _ didn’t _ love this job, if it was  _ torture _ …

Angel pushed the thought aside and focused on his companion. “Beezle Avenue,” he repeated. “Pretty ritzy joint.”

“It’s adequate,” Alastor said with a dismissive shrug.

“Adequate” was a thirty story elevator ride that let out into a foyer with a single door.  _ Adequate _ was a wall of nothing but windows overlooking the city.  _ Adequate _ was a goddamn motherfucking  _ penthouse _ . 

Even Val didn’t have a place like this.

“Holy shit,” Angel murmured, a whistle pulling low after. He moved right up to the windows, all four hands on the glass as he pressed his face to it and looked out. Hell and damn, as far as the eye could see. They were high enough that the pentagram looked like you could reach out and touch it.

This man could ask Angel to cut himself in half and he’d do it for a view like this once in a while.

Behind him, he heard the sound of a gramophone being wound up, the crackle of dust on vinyl before jazz started playing throughout the place. This felt so weirdly familiar, nostalgic,  _ warm. _ Angel ran his hands up and down his arms a few times to get the shivers to go away.

“So, uh, what are you into?” Angel asked.

“I have varied interests.”

Angel snorted. This  _ guy. _

“Sex, what are you into with sex,” he clarified. “Do you wanna fuck me? Hit me? Both? I’ve never been fucked facing a view like that before, bet the window’s strong enough for some fun.”

“None of those fall under my interests,” Alastor calmly responded. Angel drew a hand over his face with a sigh.

“Look, I’m… I appreciate the walk and the eight hundred bucks it earned me, but why did you bring me here if you didn’t wanna bang?”

“Why do people come together with other people?” Alastor mused for a moment, stepping closer. His shoes clicked against the marbled floor without an echo. “Entertainment. Curiosity.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a goddamn money clip, licking the tip of his gloved finger as he started counting out crisp hundreds. Angel felt hypnotised. He’d never seen so much money in his life or his unlife. Who the fuck  _ was _ this guy?

“Eight,” Alastor said, passing a handful of bills over with a smile. “And another eight to guide you home, since I took you so far out of your way.”

Angel snatched the bills from Alastor’s hand, mousetrap-quick, needing them in his grasp before Alastor thought of a reason not to give them over.

Eight hundred and a good orgy would probably get Val off his back, since Val was probably only expecting a couple hundred for one night of tricks. The other eight hundred would cover Angel’s rent. Then again, if Val found out Angel kept fifty percent of his earnings, kept  _ eight hundred dollars _ away from him…

‘Hell to pay’ had new meaning since his death, but it still didn’t even begin to cover what Val would do to him. 

But then, eight hundred dollars in an hour was  _ also _ going to go over like a gelato in July: a sticky mess slipping through Angel’s fingers too quickly to get under control. 

“Look,” Angel said again, slowly, lower hands braced on his hips, upper arms framing his assets. “I can’t exactly walk in off the streets with this kind of money and no explanation.”

Alastor waved a hand. “You escorted, I paid.”

“Yeah, Val’s waiting up and he’s not gonna buy that shit.”

Static crackled through the air, so sharp and sudden that Angel felt the electricity in his  _ teeth _ . Alastor’s eyes locked on his face, as if taking in Angel’s features for the first time.

“You’re one of  _ Valentino’s _ little pets?” Alastor asked, quiet, thick with the heavy rasp of white noise layered over it. 

Angel didn’t  _ cower _ so much as make himself as small as possible in posture and appearance. He knew anger and violence, he got a healthy diet of that from Val every damn day, but this was something else, this was one of the seven fucking sins incarnate. He swallowed.

“Not a  _ pet _ ,” he tried to argue, though even he knew that came out weak. “We have a…” a what? A relationship? No, not anymore. Not since… well, not since  _ ever, _ if Angel were honest with himself. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t naïve, and he hadn’t fallen to the pits of hell yesterday, he knew how the underworld worked. “A business arrangement.”

Alastor tilted his head just enough that his hair flicked a bit and something… something else moved from behind him, something elongated and enormous, shadowed and filled with teeth.

And then he blinked, and it was gone, just like that.

“I see,” Alastor said, his tone icy, but the static gone again. The jazz continued playing through the gramophone. “He’s quite a collector of  _ business arrangements _ isn’t he?”

Angel swallowed. “I guess.” Shit, was taking this money going to get him beaten to within an inch of his unlife? Was it worth it?

A part of Angel, a spiteful, childish part, was cheering at the thought, the chance to give Val the finger without getting any of his own broken.

“And what--” Angel noticed he pronounced the ‘h’ before the ‘w’ “would Valentino  _ buy _ as an explanation for having earned your fee?”

Angel considered his own ‘menu’ of services versus the ones Val offered on Angel’s behalf to his friends and business partners. Eight hundred was… in the latter category. It usually involved several people and hours of work. It wasn’t exactly  _ suck your cock for a tenner _ kind of play.

“Your silence speaks volumes,” Alastor added carefully, when Angel wasn’t able to give him an answer quickly.

“Look, I can probably twist some sorta story up for him if I stick around a few more hours. It’ll make it more believable.” Angel replied, exasperated. “Eight hundred bucks buys a  _ lot, _ okay? A lot.”

“What do you offer?”

“I’ve already  _ told you,” _ Angel groaned, frowning. “You don’t seem  _ interested.” _

“Then offer me something that I will find interesting,” Alastor reasoned.

Angel weighed what he knew about Alastor so far, which wouldn’t have tipped the scales against a dime bag of his namesake. What did he like? Was it tits? Because Angel could do tits, in a pinch. If he kept his top on. 

But then again, sucking dick didn’t involve Angel’s own body, and Alastor hadn’t seemed interested at all in  _ that _ . What the hell kind of man didn’t want an easy orgasm?

What the  _ hell _ was probably right. 

“Entertainment,” Angel finally said, when the obvious hit him in the face. “You like yours live, don’cha?”

Alastor tilted owlishly. His joints didn’t creak or crack the way Angel’s would have, as if he was made of rubber. “Alright,” he said slowly. “ _ Entertain _ me. Put on the sort of show you’d do for your talkies. Can you manage it in one take? No breaks, no do-overs, no  _ post-production _ ?”

Alastor spat out post-production in a haze of aggressive static that seemed to color the very air, as if the concept of ‘editing’ was a dirty word.

“I don’t need no do-overs,” Angel assured him. “Just a bed. Or a couch, I guess, but sheets are easier to clean.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to make do,” Alastor gestured vaguely to one of the goddamn chaise lounges by the window. Angel raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have a bed?”

“I’ve no need for one.”

“How the fuck do you sleep?”

The look Alastor gave him was enough for Angel to hold up his hands in a gesture of peace and move off to where he was told.

He had eight hundred bucks in his pocket and a guy who didn’t seem interested in anything sexual whatsoever, and he had to entertain him. Well, Angel  _ lived _ for entertaining, but improv was another matter. He wondered if he could do one of his routines without a pole…

No.

No this guy… this powerful guy, who lived so high up above the city, had money to burn, scared away demons while taking a stroll in the neighbourhood… he wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted a dance routine. No, Angel mused as he shrugged his jacket off and let it drape over the back of the chaise, no he wanted  _ entertainment, _ oldschool, uncut, unedited  _ smut. _

Fine.

Smut it was.

Next to come off was the skirt, so he could stretch and move how he wanted to. With just panties and boots on, Angel took a seat on his offered stage and made himself comfortable. He kept Alastor in the corner of his vision, curious to see what he’d do once this started, but otherwise ignored him. He could play indifferent too.

It was rare that Angel got off on his own anymore, he spent so often being fucked that the veneer of pleasure somewhat wore away, but once in a while he got that itch, that need to use his own damn hands to get his own damn pleasure. He flexed his fingers, tilted his head back against the arm of the couch and sighed, leaving one leg bent up on the cushions and letting the other drop to the ground, opening himself up for his not-quite-captive but at least patient audience.

It probably wasn’t going to be the act itself that got Alastor’s motor running, which took just a bit of the wind out of Angel’s sales. He was used to a performance being easy, the audience being built in.

But he was still a  _ performer _ , and a damn good one. And one excellent perk of Hell was the extra hands. No more multi-tasking. He could slide one set of hands up his chest to tease at his nipples, while the other set pet at his thighs and drew a soft sigh from his lips, barely a breath. He teased at his panties, his ‘working’ pair, pink satin and lace, just barely covering him from view as his cock began to stiffen.

He had a bit more to work with  _ there _ as well, Hell wasn’t all bad. 

Angel hooked his thumbs in his waistband, tugging down just enough to show the v of his hips and nothing more, biting his lip to hold back a pleased noise as he scraped his sharp claws over his chest.

“You’re quiet.”

Alastor’s voice shattered the silence, startling Angel, drawing his attention to the narrow-eyed, studious expression the other demon wore. 

_ Shut the fuck up, you whiny little bitch _ .

Some people liked him loud. Most didn’t. Angel had heard the command often enough for it to stick, an echo in the back of his mind. 

“You have to learn to  _ project _ , my dear. Act for the back row, let’m see you shine.”

Angel felt his cheeks warm a little, and ducked his head, a smile close to escaping. It was almost… cute? The way Alastor spoke, what he envisioned as entertainment. Oldschool, record players and barely-nude pornographic photos, theatre, the goddamned Queen’s English on the radio…

Angel closed his eyes, imagined he was sixteen again, half-buried in his blankets as he humped a pillow to get himself off as quietly as possible so Molly wouldn’t overhear, or worse, their brother. He imagined that frantic need, that youthful desire to just  _ get off _ because his body was aching for it, because it felt good and feeling good was a right lot better than his real life had been.

“Fuck,” he sighed, slipping a little lower on the couch, one hand peeling back the lace to grasp his cock properly, pressing it flat to his groin so it peeked out over the flimsy fabric when he revealed it again, hands busy with his chest and thighs again. One hand was tickling that spot just behind his ear, the one he loved to have someone nuzzle into as they touched him, that always made him squirm and bite his lip and sigh…

One fallacy of the porn industry was that every scene involved  _ screaming _ sex. Every panting breath a groan, every sound howled across the sound stage and out the door where the freeloaders were peeking in before security got to them. In truth, Angel was loud when he wanted to be, when someone could  _ get him to be, _ and that was pretty rare. Most just wanted the act, The Angel Dust™ to perform in their beds for them. Some made sure he made no sound at all, by any means.

Val… Val swung either way.

But this wasn’t about him, he didn’t belong in Angel’s head, and he banished him out of it, returning to the thought of is younger self, his alive self, hands frantic and need growing as he jerked off to the thought of the science teacher in his suspenders and glasses and that  _ ruler  _ in his hand that made the most amazing  _ whap _ sound as it struck a naughty kid’s clothed bottom.

The whimper that pulled from Angel, back on the chaise lounge, 30 stories above the streets he walked for a living, was absolutely genuine, and it  _ projected. _

“Lovely,” Alastor’s voice didn’t jar Angel out of his fantasies this time, pitched low and gentle.

Sound. Of  _ course _ it was sound, if not sex. The man’s entire aura screamed late night radio show, if there were any kinks to him at all, they’d be voice kinks. 

When was the last time someone had called him lovely?

Well, no. Val told him what a lovely thing he was all the time.

When was the last time someone had called Angel ‘lovely’ and been  _ genuine? _

Whatever he was doing, he was doing it right. Angel felt like it was his first time all over again, learning the ropes, playing coy as he stroked himself root to tip. He knew he must have been pink all over, from just under his eyes, down his neck, blood rushing through his veins. 

Shyness and heat. He’d felt so damn pretty the first time he did this, up against a wall in a public restroom with a man twice his age, calling him baby and nuzzling right up under his chin. Angel wrapped a hand around his throat, long fingers not yet pressing, just holding, a comfort. 

Normally he liked to finger himself when he did this, but his lube was tucked into his jacket pocket, and he was still sore from Val’s ‘payment plan.’ Instead, he spread his thighs a little wider and arched his back as if he was getting fucked, rocking his hips up into his fist. Everything felt good, for once. Everything felt  _ perfect _ . Maybe he’d manifest his remaining hands and make his body  _ sing. _

Fuck it, why  _ not? _ Who was there to stop him? To restrain him and tell him that it was  _ cheating _ using all the limbs available to him here?

Hands in his hair, tugging it a little too hard, baring his throat for another hand to tighten around. Over his chest, catching against the back of his knee to spread his legs wider, stroking, stroking, stroking…

Angel was wrapped up in his memories, floating in a haze of pleasure of the way-back-when. The first guy hadn’t been the last, not even that night. He’d jerked him off and another had come right after, panting into Angel’s hair, whispering filthy things to him that had Angel’s entire body squirming with need.

No, not Angel’s.

Tony’s.

No one had called him that in a long, long time.

He gasped, arching up harder, knees trembling, muscles taut, his orgasm on the very edge, so close he could  _ taste it _ against the back of his teeth… with the taste of ozone in the air, the kind right before a storm, enough to pulse Angel’s heart faster, adrenaline cold beneath his skin where his blood had been  _ achingly _ hot, the jarring sensation enough to send him over the edge, moaning shamelessly into the wide room as though he were the only one there.

But he wasn’t.

Someone was watching, and  _ fuck _ if that wasnt the hottest thing. 

Angel licked his lips and lay heavy back against the chaise lounge, his stomach and chest filthy and sticky. As he caught his breath he turned his head and opened his eyes, meeting Alastor’s as they gazed at him. Angel couldn’t help it, he grinned, catching the corner of his mouth between his teeth. He preened, arching up with a hum.

“How’s that for live entertainment, Al?”

Alastor’s default expression seemed to be a slasher smile, stretched wide across his angular features, showing off every pointed fang. It twitched now, just a bit, the red of his eyes darkening half a shade, his shadow flickering, and then settled back into place. 

“Adequate,” he said.

_ Adequate _ . Angel felt a flicker of displeasure, of  _ humiliation. _ There wasn’t a lot he was good at. Shooting, stripping, and sex about summed up his skills. But he considered himself to  _ excel _ at all three, and to be dismissed as  _ adequate _ \--

Angel wiped his hand off against the inside of his shirt and then struggled back into it, a pink flush across his cheeks. “Happy to be of use,” he said stiffly. 

“Should I pay you for your further services?”

Angel flinched. Boy, wouldn’t  _ that _ be fun to explain. He still wasn’t sure he could hide the extra bills from Val, not if Val insisted on  _ inspecting the merchandise _ when he came home. “Please don’t.”

“You’re offended.”

Angel felt the lower lid of his left eye twitch. Of course he was fucking offended. By the casual indifference, by the magnanimity, by the sheer gall of the guy to bring him here, to the thirtieth fucking floor penthouse in a neighbourhood even Val didn’t set foot in to just--

“Nah,” Angel stepped into his skirt and took his time flicking away dust that wasn’t there, straightening out creases that didn’t exist. “Just got better things to do. Ya know, like things that wanna get did.”

A hum, then, that sounded more like an electronic device plugged in improperly than a creature with human vocal cords.

“Please accept my apologies, if I--”

“Ya didn’t,” Angel cut him off. “But look, hanging with you is fun and all, but I need to get back out there. Ya know, walk those eight blocks back. Nice knowing ya.”

“Now I’ll know where to look should I be in need of a strolling companion,” Alastor replied. Angel didn’t even know what to say to that, so instead he just saluted the demon on his way out the door, fumbling with a cigarette as soon as the elevator doors slid closed and the box zipped down to the ground again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you even getting off on this?” Angel asked, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes._
> 
> _“Not in the slightest,” Alastor said, lifting the cup to his face and inhaling the aroma with a deep, pleased sigh._
> 
> We learn a bit more about Alastor's uh... preferences.

Angel’s skin was crawling right off his fucking muscles.

And not in the fun way, the way that came with a few good lines and a box of wine. 

No, he was  _ itchy _ . Itchy as a bad trip, though he hadn’t had a single speck of powder all day. Val had made  _ sure _ of that.

_ I want you aware of every minute we spend together, babydoll. _

And Angel was, and had the bruises to prove it. 

Angel liked a good whipping. He couldn’t help himself. He even liked a  _ bad _ whipping, he’d come all over himself when Val twisted his wrist  _ just _ right. 

But he hadn’t wanted to be whipped, that night. He’d wanted to be wined and dined, like Val had  _ promised. _ Like Val had done in the beginning, when Angel still thought he got to decide who he let inside of him. 

Val had told him he was a good boy, that his shows were bringing in record earnings, that he was Val’s top performer and he deserved a treat. Then, when he’d showed up, he’d told Angel he looked good enough to eat, that he couldn’t help himself, and then oh by the way, isn’t your rent due soon?

So Angel was here, on the street, hungry and  _ sober _ and digging sharp claws into the soft skin of his lower arms. 

Rent  _ was _ due soon, and the bastard landlord had apparently been talking to Val enough to figure that a good old fashioned cock sucking wasn’t enough to tide Angel over anymore.

Asshole.

He needed to make enough for a bag, then the night would smooth itself out. But enough for a bag either meant a regular or several rough-and-tumbles in the alleys, and no one was biting tonight.

Shit, he needed to get Nuggs’ food, too.

Goddammit.

He felt a shiver run up his spine, the kind that predicted a storm, an electrical zing that made his hair stand on end. Great. The last thing he needed was shitty weather too; panic didn’t sell as well as Val imagined it did, when he sent Angel out in the thunder and lightning to get picked up.

_ “There _ you are, my effeminate fellow!”

Angel frowned, turned to look over his shoulder. The voice was familiar, the cadence, the pitch, but the tone was just… weird.

“Another rough evening?” Alastor stepped up to him, too close for comfort, but Angel didn’t step away, didn’t flee like a comedic cartoon to hide behind the nearest lamppost. He just huffed a breath through his nose, plastered on his winning smile.

“I like it rough,” he replied.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed to reddish black slits, smile stretching wider and wider until Angel could count every tooth. There was a high pitched whine, like radio tuning, and then Alastor offered his arm. 

_ “Fasssscinating _ ,” Alastor drawled. “You’ll have to tell me all about it some time! But first, why not escort me? I could use someone to scare the  _ ruffians _ away.”

Angel looked up one end of the empty street and then down the other, one eyebrow raised. “You seen another unliving soul the entire time you’ve been out?” He asked.

“I seem to always have just missed them,” Alastor said pleasantly. “Your usual fee, then?”

Angel opened his mouth, and then paused, a thought occurring to him. A stupid, wonderful thought. A thought that was going to get Valentino to rip him to pieces if he ever caught him.

“Last week a john told me I was selling myself short,” He said, one eyebrow raised, challenging. “Prices just went up fifty percent.”

When Alastor laughed, it was the laughter of many people, hundreds of people, echoing around Angel as though he was in a sound studio.

“Canned laughter, huh?” Angel smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes on the price hike.”

“My dear, for a smile I would pay anything,” Alastor replied, and Angel felt himself hum with delight at the thought. He wanted to preen, to show off, to be  _ pretty. _ But… last time it had ended in  _ adequate. _ Just. Adequate. Was it really worth the effort?

“A smile?” He asked, slipping his arm through Alastor’s anyway. Because fuck Val and his goddamn bullshit lies. “In this economy?”

“They do say if you’re good at something, never do it for free,” Alastor pointed out, swinging his cane between his fingers before setting off at a comfortable pace down the street, Angel keeping up.

“What if I’m  _ adequate _ at something?” Angel countered, giving Alastor a look that said butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth when he looked over.

“If you’re  _ adequate,” _ Alastor mused, allowing his eyes to wander over Angel’s face, down to the dark bruise at his throat, where he fixated for a moment. “Then certainly don’t ask for less than double the fee.”

Angel scrunched up his nose. Adequate was worth double? Well then. That explained…

Well, it explained fuck all, really. Alastor seemed relatively unexplainable. But it lifted a weight of  _ in _ adequacy that Angel had been carrying within himself all week. He was good at what he did. He could take pride in it, even if it wasn’t ideal.

“You know this means you’ll have to have me over,” he pointed out, as Alastor guided him down the street, flashing smiles into shop windows. Every building they passed suddenly dimmed its lights, terrified to invite his patronage. 

“But of course,” Alastor said, spreading one arm wide, cane in hand, nearly decapitating a creature who did not flee into an alley fast enough. “What is a show without an encore?”

“So you were thinking more of the same?” Angel asked, a flicker of excitement building within him. Alastor was  _ bizarre _ , but Angel’s orgasm in that penthouse had been the most comfortable one he’d had in a long time. He never seemed to have enough time to treat himself. “Or are we talking a sequel, mixing things up a bit from the first go round?”

Another of those weird hums that sounded electrical, another zap of electricity that Angel had felt pulling the hairs on his arms up towards the sky.

At least it wasn’t a fucking  _ storm. _

“A sequel, you say? How  _ marvellous!” _ Alastor looked genuinely delighted by the prospect, and Angel couldn’t help but snort.

“What’s got you so chipper?” he asked. “Last time you were all,” he wiggled his fingers vaguely, “creepy and skulking and today you’re just…” he wiggled his fingers again, differently. Eloquence was a gift.

“My dear, I’m certain you’re  _ well- _ versed in anticipation,” Alastor replied. “The understanding that something is to happen, something curious and queer, yet no knowledge of  _ when _ or  _ how.” _

Angel blew a raspberry. “Don’t see  _ that _ often in the industry anymore.”

_ “Exactly,” _ Alastor said, turning them down a street that would lead them to the penthouse. “Another reason why the picture show has its pros but mostly houses cons. Any performance, no matter how well practiced, will always differ when it’s live. Humans are so  _ wonderfully _ flawed that they inevitably make a mess of things one way or another, and  _ voila! _ A performance with pizzazz! With excitement! The thrill of the unknown!”

Angel tried to process this barrage of words, more words than he’d ever heard Alastor say at one time. This was… the kid’s channel, the excitement being drummed up by the tone of voice and expressive hyperbole. Last time had been the newline of BBC Tonight.

“So… you’re like a kid at Christmas coz ya didn’t know when you’d get yer encore?”

Alastor turned to him, the motion swinging Angel closer as well until they were almost nose to nose.

_ “Precisely!” _

Angel didn’t kiss johns, but he could have made an exception for Alastor. Not out of any sort of  _ crush _ or anything, it was just that his excitement was contagious. It was rare that someone was happy to see  _ Angel _ , specifically, and not just thrilled to be balls deep in a whore, any whore. 

“Glad to give ya something to look forward to,” Angel quipped, looking down at pure, electric  _ energy _ . Alastor crackled and popped with his pleasure, a stark distance to the static noises he’d made when he’d been acting ominous the week before. 

“One gets so  _ tired _ of the same humdrum,” Alastor noted, spinning on his heel to lead the way down the street once more, Angel tripping over himself to keep up. His legs may have been a mile longer, but Alastor was  _ brisk,  _ and moved without hesitance, as if the ground itself didn’t dare get in his way. “Wake up, have some coffee. Go for a stroll down the same old streets, have some coffee. Arrange a few…  _ meetings _ , have some coffee. ‘ _ Please don’t hurt me, I have a family’ _ , have some coffee.  _ Monotonous _ .”

It wasn’t exactly the quiet life of a bachelor one might have expected, but who was Angel to judge? A boring day for  _ him _ might include a cattle prod and thirteen gallons of rice pudding. Honestly, at least a walk with a mad man didn’t leave him with lumps in weird places.

“Does that mean you’re puttin’ in requests?” Angel asked, tilting his head back to look up as they approached Alastor’s building. At the very top, his rooms were pitch dark, the windows black. 

“That would suggest you’re  _ taking _ requests, my dear.” Alastor replied, holding the door open for him. Angel stepped through feeling like he’d just won the goddamn lottery. The last time he’d felt like this he’d…

He’d had Val’s coat draped over him, a new sexy costume that Val had bought him on beneath, and he was preparing to go on stage.

Angel shook his head to get  _ that _ dead noise out of there and confidently pressed the call button for the elevator.

“Surprise me, hot stuff,” Angel replied, giving Alastor bedroom eyes over his shoulder. “Ain’t nothing I haven’t tried before.”

“Well, we can’t have it be monotonous for  _ you, _ sweetling, that would defeat the purpose of our little exercise.” Alastor pointed out, using his cane to press the button for his floor. 

In his decades in death, Angel had been called many things. Darling, Angelcakes, Sweetheart, Angie, Baby, Dollface, BitchWhoreSlutUselessLittleShitFucker-

Anyway.

Sweetling was new. Sweetling gave him pause, gave him a little shiver down his spine. He  _ liked _ it. There wasn’t much Angel tended to like about the way johns talked to him, but he liked  _ that _ . It made his mouth dry, his face warm.

When he looked at Alastor, Alastor’s smile had twitched into something that seemed to show genuine pleasure, rather than manic glee. 

“Haven’t bored me yet,” Angel said, slow and soft, deepening his voice. “Hit me with your best shot.”

_ “Wonderful,” _ Alastor said, holding out his arm to usher Angel through the now-open elevator doors. 

The penthouse looked exactly the same. In truth, Angel hadn’t expected it to change, per se, so much as… he’d wondered if he’d hyped it up in his head. How nice the view was, how clean the place was… the gramophone, the bookcases, the aura of power without the stifling reek of it. Nope. All the same, all just as glaringly overwhelming as the first time.

The only difference, was that the table was set for two this time, ready for more coffee, apparently -- did this guy drink anything but fucking coffee? -- and it was angled towards the chaise lounge Angel had chosen to use last time, like a goddamn theatre set.

Well.

Angel would hardly complain. This enthusiasm over last time’s indifference? Any day.

“So what would ya like to see?” Angel asked, slipping his jacket off one shoulder, cheek pressed against it.

“Whatever you’d like to show me,” came the answer.  _ “However, _ I’ve procured some… shall we say,  _ set dressing, _ that might inspire you.”

Without a word, Alastor opened a portal, right fucking there next to him in the freakishly large living room, and from it pulled a sealed cardboard box. Angel stared, jaw nearly to the goddamn floor because he’d just made a  _ fucking portal _ out of  _ fucking nowhere. _ Alastor waved his hand in a vague gesture.

“Merely smoke and mirrors, dear heart, think nothing of it.”

He presented Angel with the box, which he took carefully with his lower arms, upper hands already working on peeling the tape off to see what was inside.

A dick, nice and thick and hefty. Nothing fancy, no buttons or ridges, but good quality. And a particular shade of electric lime that told Angel it probably glowed in the dark. 

Angel lifted his head to stare at Alastor, one eyebrow raised. “ _ You _ picked this out?” he asked, disbelieving. 

“I had the shopkeep make some recommendations,” Alastor replied. “He was  _ ecstatic _ to make the sale.”

To make the sale, or to shoo Alastor out the door? Given the way people reacted to the sight of him (completely overblown, in Angel’s opinion), it was probably the latter. “You know this could be you, right?” He said, waving the dick by his head. “We could skip the middleman.”

“No, it couldn’t,” Alastor said without hesitation, settling in at the table. “Would you prefer your coffee before the performance, or after?”

“After,” Angel decided, turning towards the chaise. “I work better on an empty stomach.” Of course, that was usually because he was twisted up and nauseous with 60% of his clients, but why break a perfectly good routine?

Jacket off, skirt off…

“Panties on or off?” Angel asked, tucking one foot behind the other as he eyed Alastor. The demon seemed to not particularly care either way, so those came off as well, Angel making a show of dangling them from the tips of his fingers before letting them drop to the floor.

He’d kick them under the couch after, to leave ‘em there, so that a bit of him stuck around for next time, kept Angel on Alastor’s mind.

He took up the toy, bent to retrieve his trusty lube from his jacket and gave the chaise a curious look.

“You sure you want me to just… use it?”

“At your leisure.”

“I’ll make a mess,” Angel warned, amused.

“Messes are temporary,” Alastor replied, without hesitation. Angel had to laugh. It was  _ weird, _ he was into it, but not  _ really _ into it, not in a way that others were. There was no physical sign of arousal at all, but Alastor’s expression was still pleased, still that genuinely curious thing he’d worn in the elevator when he’d called Angel  _ sweetling. _

“You’re into  _ words, _ right?” Angel asked, draping himself over the chaise.

A little crackle of static excitement.  _ Gotcha _ . 

“I do like a good story,” Alastor agreed. “Avarice, excitement, opportunity! A new world unfolding with just a few choice adjectives.”

“And what’s a good story without sex?” Angel laughed, surveying the chaise. “Any particular position you were looking to see?”

“Whatever works best for your purposes.”

Of course. Angel was beginning to get the hang of how this guy worked. 

All the good stuff was best seen from behind, but Angel found he wanted to watch Alastor’s face, see if he could pick out flickers of interest, arousal. See if there was a creature with needs and desires buried underneath the noise. He sprawled out on his back, legs spread wide to show off. He had a bit more chest hair than he’d had in life, but down here, he was as tidy and smooth as he could get himself, both for the sex appeal and for personal preference. It meant the view was unobstructed.

Alastor… Alastor was looking at his  _ face _ . 

Good, let him look. It was a fine face.

Angel stretched his arms up above his head, a soft groan of pleasure as bones clicked and his spine realigned. He left two above his head, and dropped the others down to caress his legs; spreading his fingers over his knees, drawing them back up to stroke his thighs as he tucked his head against his shoulder and gazed at Alastor through hooded eyes.

“You ever touch anyone like this before?” he asked, not expecting an answer. Predictably he wasn’t given one. They were on the same page then, finally. Angel sighed, letting his eyes close in a languid blink before opening them again. “It’s nice. No one’s touched me like this in a long time.”

He drew one hand up the length of his cock, growing harder the longer Angel lay there, touching himself, being watched, knowing what was coming. The toy wasn’t the biggest he’d had to work with, hell, most of his clients were disproportionately endowed, but it would still hurt. He hadn’t had a night to himself in… well, since the last time he’d been up here and got to wank without the pressure of lights, camera, action.

Still. He knew he’d enjoy that toy more than anyone else who’d been up his ass all week. Literally.

“Usually,” Angel continued, dropping one hand down from over his head to circle a bruise bitten into his throat. There was a whole line of them, down to his collarbone, over his sternum. Beneath the fur on his chest, too, he was sure. Val was possessive when he was hungry for him. It used to make Angel feel wanted. “Whoever touches me leaves a brand behind.”

He pressed against one of the bruises til the zing of pain made him hiss and his cock twitch between his legs.

“Not that I mind, it’s--”

“Do that again.”

Alastor’s voice was calm, quiet. No hint of static or buzz, no longer that bright presenter tone of before. Just… him, Angel supposed. How he sounded when there was no one else to hear, how he sounded in his own head.

“What, this?” he pressed down on another bruise, hard enough to pale the skin and draw goosebumps over his flesh. Fuck it felt good, on his own terms.

“Yes.”

The ever present aura that followed Alastor, almost an electronic glow, seemed to have dimmed. For a moment, he was just a man, a man with inhuman features and a laser-focus on Angel’s long, clawed fingers. 

Angel shifted, arching his back, lifting his hips off the chaise to show off the curve of his ass, thoroughly striped pink. “Didja get a look at the welts?”

Something popped, a lightbulb going out. “No,” Alastor said quietly. “You sat too quickly. Show me.”

“I’ll go slow for you, baby,” Angel cooed. He’d wanted to watch Alastor’s expressions, but this was the most engagement he’d had from him, and Angel had never been able to resist attention.

In one slow, graceful motion, Angel rolled himself onto his stomach, propped up onto his knees, ass on full display. He reached back with two hands to frame his pink cheeks, showing off the burst of reddened welts, already healing thanks to the demonic properties of his warped body. 

Angel could smell ozone and electricity, sparks of power heavy in the room. 

“You’ve been naughty,” Alastor said. “Someone’s had to discipline you.”

“Maybe I asked for it?” Angel replied, tucking his cheek against his shoulder again as he gazed at Alastor. “Asked someone to paint me up all nice? They gave me these,” he ran his knuckles down one of the darker welts. “And I cried real pretty for ‘em.”

It wasn’t true, but this entire fantasy was building itself on the fly.

In truth, Val had cuffed both pairs of arms to the headboard and had gone to town with several belts until he’d gotten tired and fucked Angel instead.

It took a lot to get a demon tired.

Angel shivered at the memory, passing it off as something pleasurable instead. Imagining how it would have felt it he’d actually asked for a spanking, if he’d begged and bent over on his own, arched up, let go…

“Did you?” Alastor asked. Angel opened his eyes again. There was a hum around the demon that wasn’t quite shadow but something… hazy, like a badly tuned television. But his eyes… his eyes remained bright and fixated on Angel. Angel crossed his ankles and leaned over the back of the chaise, arching his back and wrapping one set of arms around the soft cushion to rest his head on.

“Said pretty please and everything,” he replied. “Why? You like to beat pretty things too?”

“I like  _ passion _ ,” Alastor said. “And beauty.”

“I got both in spades,” Angel assured him, with a wide, smug grin. 

“There’s a particular beauty in suffering,” Alastor explained, drawing out the sibilant like the hiss of a snake. “In tears, in reddened cheeks, in the pulse of blood and pleading, in the  _ screaming _ .”

This time, a light really did go out, one of the dimmable bulbs above the table. Alastor’s shadow, blooming bigger and bigger in his excitement, shrank back, and the darkness that had built in a fog around him dissipated, as if shamed away. Alastor took a polite sip of his coffee, pinky extended. “Perhaps,” he said, in a calmer, simpler voice, the radio echo firmly in place, “You’ll deign to show me your suffering, sometime.”

Angel stared at him, unable to hide the grin. Everyone had  _ something _ , and he’d pegged Alastor easily. He hadn’t lost his touch. There wasn’t a man alive he couldn’t please. “We’ll talk numbers later,” he promised. “For now, I’ve got a new toy I wanna play with.”

Angel remained in that position, able to both watch Alastor and have him see where the action was without turning himself inside out to do it. A flick of his thumb opened up the bottle of lube, he slicked three fingers up without wasting a drop -- it was an artform, honestly -- and reached back to start working himself open.

For work, preparation was quick and basic, slick and stretched enough not to have it be  _ agony, _ but no one was waiting around for Angel to pleasure himself with three fingers up his ass when cameras were rolling and time was money.

But this was a different kind of job, where the client was as into the foreplay as the main event, as long as he got to watch every detail. So Angel took his time. He let his eyelids droop until they were almost closed, until he could barely see Alastor, and stoked the tip of one finger around his hole.

When he’d first discovered the pleasure of penetration, it had been with an on-again off-again ‘boyfriend’ who’d been twice his age and a colleague of his father’s. Thankfully, the man was absolutely obsessed with getting Angel off, in every, and any way he could, as often as they were able in the times they could sneak away.

There was a certain intimacy in preparing yourself when someone was watching; though usually that person was preparing to dive right on in once Angel was ready, whereas here Alastor just… watched.

Angel crooked two fingers and slipped them into himself, a low, pleased groan escaping his throat as he did. He was still sore, but this felt… selfish. It felt nice. He wasn’t being rushed, or told that he  _ didn’t need that, you’re loose enough. _ He was being looked at,  _ devoured _ by another’s gaze, and that was  _ thrilling. _

A third finger, and Angel whined, spreading his legs a little wider, two hands down to stroke over his thighs as they trembled in pleasure. He opened his eyes to look at Alastor properly and… 

He was refilling his coffee cup.

“Are you even getting off on this?” Angel asked, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes.

“Not in the slightest,” Alastor said, lifting the cup to his face and inhaling the aroma with a deep, pleased sigh. 

What the  _ fuck _ . 

Angel pulled his fingers free, wiping them spitefully on the chaise. He straightened up, sitting with his legs crossed and arms folded, hiding the goods from view. “Then why the hell am I doing it?” he asked, throwing up a set of hands in exasperation. “What is the  _ point _ ?”

Alastor did his favorite owl impression, wide eyed, unblinking, smile stretched and fixed. “You’re doing it because I’m paying you to,” he said, slow, as if Angel was a particularly stupid child needing to be educated. 

“But  _ why _ ?” Angel asked. He had never been uncomfortable being naked, but suddenly he couldn’t stand to have his bare skin on display anymore. He felt humiliated, enraged. He reached for his panties. “Why bring me all this way, ask me to, to… You bought a fucking  _ plastic dick _ .”

“I believe it’s silicon, actually.”

“What’s the  _ point?” _ Angel asked again, as he tried to blindly find the footholes. “What the fuck do you get outta this if you’re not getting off?”

“But you are.”

That stopped Angel short for a moment, because that shouldn’t have mattered. He wasn’t being paid to get off, he was being paid to--

“What?”

Alastor set his cup down and gestured with the same hand. “You’re  _ getting off, _ as you put it. And I get to watch you.”

“But that’s…” Angel gave up the struggle with his tangled panties and let them hang off one ankle as he just stared at Alastor. “That’s not fair.”

“How so?”

“You’re not…” Angel gestured, all four hands trying to illustrate what he couldn’t even find words for. “I get all the fun stuff,” he landed on, after a while, lame as that was. Here, Alastor laughed, that buzzy canned laughter noise swirled around Angel as though he were on a soundstage again.

“My dear boy, do you  _ truly think _ that I would be sitting here if I were bored?”

“I…” Angel frowned. “I have no idea.”

“While I do enjoy the occasional lapse in concentration to ease my boredom,  _ you _ are certainly not here for that.”

“You can’t just… I’ve never seen anyone  _ not _ get off and say they had a good time,” Angel admitted. “I feel like I’m cheating or somethin’.”

“I told you I enjoy passion and beauty,” Alastor reminded him. Angel nodded slowly. “You’ve proven twice already that you radiate both. Consider me drawn to the heat of the flame, with no desire to combust within it.”

Angel sucked in a long, slow breath, like taking a drag off a cigarette. God, he needed nicotine. He held it, three beats, then let it out. 

“So let me try an’ sum all this up,” he said, gesturing in a wide, inconclusive arch in Alastor’s general direction. “You want me to go fuck myself, and you want to watch, for the  _ aesthetic _ ?”

“Yes.” Alastor said, simple and direct. 

“And you  _ are _ enjoying yourself, in your own weird little way?”

A twitch of the lip, not irritation, but definitely a dislike of Angel’s phrasing. “I have so far enjoyed the vast majority of the moments we’ve spent together,” he said. “I can promise you, if it assuages your stage fright, that I was  _ very much _ enjoying your explanation of your marks.”

“Sadist,” Angel accused, his early confidence returning. He kicked his foot, letting his panties drop back to the floor. “Maybe next time you might wanna touch 'em?” He suggested, rolling back onto his front.

There was a long pause, but not a silent one. Angel heard the hum of Alastor’s thoughts, broadcasting his concentration to the room. 

“That would be acceptable,” Alastor finally said, in a voice that rolled warm and thick down Angel’s spine. “Tell me what was used on you.”

Angel grinned and ducked his head, licking his lips before looking over his shoulder again.

“Belts,” he told him, taking up the toy with one hand and focusing his attention on it as he spoke. “Leather ones. Three of ‘em.”

“Three?” Alastor’s amusement almost chirped around him, warm and bright, and Angel held up three fingers in confirmation as he started to lube the toy up. Alastor hummed, sitting back in his seat and taking up his coffee cup as he did. “Go on.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I suppose this is big enough for your purposes, then?”_
> 
> _“Ha!” Angel leaned against the door jamb. “Are you kiddin’? That thing is bigger than my apartment.”_
> 
> _“Is it really?”_

After the dildo incident, Angel had also been gifted several cock rings, some vibrators, a set of anal beads that looked like they were made of actual gold… he kept his loot at Alastor’s, vaguely claiming lack of space at home. He’d started putting money aside too, hiding it in Nuggs’ bedding, where he knew Val wouldn’t look.

Where he  _ hoped  _ Val wouldn’t look.

It became a routine, of sorts.

As Angel systematically was made to pay back his debt, and work double time to make up for lost time, he made a habit of sneaking out close enough to Beezle Avenue and slunk about until inevitably Alastor found him.

Angel looked forward to their time together. Sure, Alastor was a whackjob who didn’t get off to anything ever, but he didn’t ask much of Angel; he wanted to watch, what Angel did as he watched was up to Angel himself. And he always got off,  _ always _ , and always on his terms.

But it wasn’t that he  _ liked _ Alastor or anything. He was just a high roller, paid well for not much work, and easy money was easy money. He even let Angel hang out after, sometimes, and drink coffee. And so what if sometimes Angel stayed for a few hours? What if he drank so much coffee that it was coming out of his pores? It wasn’t that he  _ liked _ being there, it was that he liked being there more than he liked being elsewhere.

_ Angel baby, Daddy’s waiting. _

Angel considered the text message as he sat on the chaise, legs tucked up and arms wrapped around them. He knew he should reply, tell him that he was on his way, give him the money he’d earned from Alastor today, edging himself with several of his toys before he finally came so hard he’d had to lie down. He knew he should leave, make the trudge back to the studio, put on his winning smile for Val when he saw him…

“Hey, uh, you mind if I crash here tonight?” Angel asked, eyes still burning a hole into his phone. “I’ve got a john nearby and he’s one for an early morning fuck, I’ll be outta yer hair before you even wake up.”

Alastor looked up from where he’d been counting out Angel’s money. “A moment, while I recalculate your fee.”

Angel shrugged good naturedly. He was a hell of a lot safer here than he was ducking in to any of the sleazy motels he’d fucked in before; that was the sort of place Val would check. And he had enough saved that he didn’t mind paying for a night of security. 

After a few seconds, Alastor began to  _ add _ bills to the pile. Angel opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. 

Was he really going to talk himself  _ out _ of money? Argue with the psycho who already paid him to enjoy himself and was now apparently going to pay him to  _ sleep _ ?

_ Fuck _ no. Money was money, and Angel had outgrown guilt years ago. He’d start feeling guilty for taking advantage of Alastor when Alastor began to act like he was being taken advantage of. And not a minute sooner. 

“Does that fee include a shower?” He joked, reaching for his coffee cup. 

“Unless you’d prefer a bath.”

Angel nearly dropped the cup. “This place has a  _ bath?” _

“I was promised that it does,” came the lazy reply. Angel opened his mouth to ask and… decided against it. Alastor was weird, that much was clear, but he was the kind of weird that Angel could comfortably hang around. He wasn’t violent, he wasn’t particularly demanding -- just particular -- he just… existed, seemingly indifferent to the Hell around him. Angel bounced on the couch impatiently for a moment before the distracting shifting caught Alastor’s attention. “You may go look for it, if you wish.”

“Great!”

Angel hadn’t actually seen the penthouse beyond the room they’d usually, uh,  _ worked,  _ in. It was clearly enormous, and  _ clearly _ not lived in to its fullest extent.  _ Shit _ the kind of parties Angel could host here if this was his place…

Behind one door was a library, with dimmed lights and floor to ceiling bookshelves. Angel spent a good while just staring at it, getting lost in the atmosphere. There was a tug somewhere inside him, for something normal; being able to sit and read a book, having the  _ time to, _ having someone to read with… he shut that door and went on exploring.

The next, was a bedroom. 

Complete with a bed.

“Hey Al?” Angel called, eyeing the well-made four-poster like a hungry man eyes a steak. “You ain’t never explored your own place or what?”

“I took the agent at his word,” came the answer. “He was  _ such _ a charming young man. I assured him that I believed he had no reason to lie to me.”

“I bet he pissed himself talking to you.”

A pause, a tick, the same frozen displeasure that Alastor gave whenever Angel said something that was crude enough to irritate, but not crude enough to chide him for. Angel was beginning to love drawing that expression to the surface.

“He seemed extremely interested in making the sale,” Alastor finally said, “And then getting home to that  _ lovely _ husband of his.”

A husband who Alastor had no doubt brought up unprompted, and without the agent ever having mentioned being married. Angel snickered. 

“Well, remember when you said you didn’t have a bed?”

Another tick, this one without the static taste of displeasure, and then Alastor was beside him, peering into the room.

“Hmm,” he said, red eyes taking in the careful decorations.

“Hmm?” Angel said. “That’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“I suppose this is big enough for your purposes, then?”

“Ha!” Angel leaned against the door jamb. “Are you kiddin’? That thing is bigger than my apartment.”

“Is it really?”

Angel considered the bed again, tilting his head. It just might have been, the place Val had him in above the studio was probably a closet before he’d been moved in.

“Yep.”

“Dreadful,” Alastor told him, crossing his arms as he continued gazing into the space. “Perhaps a reason to rethink your…  _ business arrangement _ until your needs are properly met.”

“My needs are met plenty,” Angel replied, bristling a little. But… he wasn’t wrong. Angel put up with a lot of shit because he had no choice  _ but _ to. He stepped into the bedroom, touching everything as he went. One of the doors led to a walk in closet that damn near echoed when Angel whistled, impressed, and the other--

“Ah-ha! Paydirt.”

The bathroom was vast, with enormous windows, and a claw-footed tub that could fit at least three people in it. Angel made a shamelessly happy sound. He hadn’t had a chance to sink into a tub in  _ years. _

“Sure ya don’t wanna join me?” Angel asked over his shoulder, certain that Alastor hadn’t followed him; he tended to just… spread his omnipresence around the house without  _ going  _ anywhere.

“Certain.”

“Fuck’s  _ sake!” _ he was  _ right there. _

Alastor’s ever present smile was sharper up close. Angel could count every fang and see the range of reds in his eyes. Alastor had a poor concept of personal space, but they had never been quite so close before. 

He looked… real.

There was always an aura of shadow around Alastor, sometimes literally. He radiated power. Angel was well over a foot taller than him, and yet he did not feel as if he dwarfed Alastor in any way.

But up close… There were lines to his features, the shapes that skin took as it stretched. His hair was made up of soft strands, and not just a clump of colors atop his head. He had  _ pores _ .

Alastor was a person. It was so easy to forget that, to see him as this eldritch being that Angel just happened to trip into.

“Al, Al, buddy, pal, ya ever hear of a personal bubble?” Angel said, to cover up his moment of hesitation. 

Alastor tilted his head and blinked, slowly. “I was merely indulging my curiosity. There’s a shower in the bathroom down the hall which suits my occasional needs. I’ve never had a reason to investigate the other rooms.”

Angel took another look at the sparkling tile. “Looks pretty clean for an abandoned place.”

“Niffty would have seen to it, she despairs of my cleaning habits. I’ve always considered myself an exceptionally tidy person, but Niffty has never trusted a man’s skills.”

“Niffty?” Angel asked, brow furrowed. “You don’t have a girlfriend.”

It wasn’t a question. Angel would have noticed a lady’s presence by now. And probably stolen her lipstick. 

Alastor laughed, but this was more muted; no canned laughter here. “Hells below,  _ no. _ Women are creatures that continue to confound me even down here. She’s merely… a helper.”

“A business arrangement, huh?” Angel asked, his smile knowing. Alastor rocked back on his heels then onto his toes again, bringing him closer to Angel once more.

“Not quite as  _ involved _ as yours is, I assure you, but a deal was struck and she certainly holds up her end of the bargain.”

“Yeah, seems like,” Angel tucked his chin and gazed up at Alastor with the widest eyes he could manage. “You wanna stay and watch?”

“You wilt without constant attention, don’t you my dear?”

Angel shrugged. He wasn’t wrong. And he liked Alastor’s attention, it felt warm, weirdly innocent, compared to the shit he had to deal with on the regular. He’d definitely not kick him out of bed for eating crackers. He just had to get him  _ into _ bed first.

All considered, the bath was uneventful. Angel flirted long enough to realize that he much preferred to just sink into the tub and soak, and Alastor… watched. He watched as he always did. He didn’t tell Angel to  _ get the fuck out _ of the bath, or that he was wasting time and water, he just let him float, let him preen the fluff on his chest, let him wash his hair and feel thoroughly clean.

Then he handed him a towel that felt more like a down blanket and waited for Angel to decide what to do next.

“You’re welcome to the bed, if it suits,” he offered. “I suppose if I  _ have one _ it may as well get use. What could be crueler, than a thing made to be used to go unused?”

As a ‘thing made to be used’ himself, Angel couldn’t disagree. “Trust me, it suits,” he said, unwrapping himself to towel his hair dry. It stuck up every which way, and was going to be a pain in the ass in the morning, but he could not spend another second looking at that bed and not touching it.

Angel collapsed into the down comforter with an obscene moan, the loudest, most obnoxious noise he’d ever dared make in front of Alastor’s more posh sensibilities.

“Your bed is in the wrong dimension,” he said, voice muffled by a pillow. He felt like he was laying in a cloud. He was pretty sure he was going to have trouble getting back out, with how the mattress dipped to cradle him. It was more of a nest than a bed, and Angel was not ever,  _ ever _ going to move again. “Have I ascended?”

“It suits you, then?”

Angel tilted his head enough to glance at Alastor, who stood by the bed looking… not quite adrift, but as if he didn’t entirely know what to do with his hands. He’d settled for loosely holding his cane across his stomach, as if guarding himself from Angel’s comfort. 

He also looked as if he was genuinely waiting for an answer. As if it mattered whether the bed suited. As if he was going to pop out to the shops at two am to find a better mattress if it didn’t.

Considering what Angel knew of Alastor, he absolutely  _ would. _ The thought was painfully endearing, so Angel banished it. Instead, he bit his lip and turned to rest on his side, gesturing with one hand.

“It’s  _ adequate _ ,” he said.

For a moment, Alastor just blinked at him, and then the room filled with a warm buzz of electricity and his smile ticked over into something genuinely amused, genuinely  _ pleased, _ and Angel didn’t even bother to hide his preening.

Inside jokes, they had inside jokes now.

“Well, if ya don’t mind,” Angel stretched out and plopped back onto the bed again. “I’m gonna get some shuteye.”

“Of course,” Alastor replied. “Must be well rested for your morning client.”

“My wah?” it took a moment for Angel to remember the lie he’d used to get himself an invitation to a night of safety, and he backpedalled as quickly as he could before Alastor saw fit to kick him out. “Right, yeah, well, he’s into fucking me whether I’m responding or not so, no big deal.”

Alastor hummed, head tilting. “Well, my dear, may the bed serve as it should.”

“Night,” Angel murmured, wrapping himself up in a blanket burrito. He shot off two quick texts: one to Cherri, asking her to check in on Nuggs, the other to Val, claiming a client. He shut his phone off before Val could respond and insist he come home anyway. 

Then he slept like the dead man he was, sinking into the bed like he’d never sank into anything before in his life. 

He’d never been so comfortable. Never so warm. God, he’d had some money to throw around before he died, but this bed was something else entirely. 

It was nearly dawn when Angel shifted, rolling over to flop onto a pillow that hadn’t yet been warmed by his body heat. 

From the shadowy corner, a pair of eyes glinted, watching him as he slept, illuminated by their own quiet power. 

_ Val.  _ It was the first explanation that popped into Angel’s sleep-addled mind. He’d seen this too many times. Val, laying in wait in the dressing room, in Angel’s bedroom, in the limo, lit by smoke and his own smoldering rage. Ready to punish Angel, to tie him down and hurt him and hurt him and--

But no. Val’s eyes were more pink than red, even without his sunglasses. This was Alastor, standing stock-still in the corner of the room, his eyes on Angel. 

“What the fucking  _ fuck?!” _

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Have you been  _ staring at me _ while I’ve been  _ sleeping?” _

“Yes.”

Angel made a sound, a mingling of disgust and disbelief, and yanked the blankets back on the side of the bed he hadn’t claimed.

“Get in here.”

“No, thank you.”

“You are  _ not _ gonna stare at me while I  _ sleep, _ Al, that’s too much even for me. This bed can fit a fuckin’ brothel on it without being crowded, get  _ in.” _

Alastor hesitated, which Angel had never seen him do before, and something in him softened, felt warm, felt… endeared. He sighed, flopping back into bed and stretching all his limbs out with a contented sound.

“Look, can’t even reach the end’f the bed,” he said, wriggling his fingers. “Won’t touch you if you don’t wanna but just… don’t  _ stand there _ like some serial killer.”

“I can’t be anything but my nature,” Alastor replied tersely, and Angel sat up, giving him a look.

“Seriously?”

“We all have our vices.”

“Tch’yeah, it’s the one way ticket down to this joint,” Angel snorted. “Doesn’t change nothin’, get yer ass in bed. Sleepin for an audience ain’t a service I offer.”

“I live a less active life than you,” Alastor said, creeping closer to the bed. “I need far less rest. I may not sleep, even if I lay down.”

“Well, at least you’ll look less creepy,” Angel muttered. “Save that shit for the randos on the street, you don’t need to pull it with me.”

Alastor slid into the blankets, finally, still fully dressed but for his shoes. He laid there, stiff as a board, as if he could not quite remember what it had been like to sleep. With a sigh, Angel inched a bit closer, rolling his eyes when Alastor’s static grew louder.

“Relax, I ain’t gonna touch you when I know you don’t like it,” Angel said, carefully pulling the blankets up around Alastor’s shoulders. “What kinda man do you think I am? I’m just helpin’ you get comfy.”

God and Satan knew Angel had too often had to deal with unwanted hands all over his skin. He wasn’t going to do that to someone else, no matter how tempting another person’s warmth was. 

Once Alastor had been sufficiently tucked in, Angel scooted back to his own side of the bed, peering at Alastor through the darkness. “Now you close your eyes,” he instructed.

“I’m aware of sleep,” Alastor replied, though his tone was amused rather than steely. “I merely have no need for it.”

“Yeah, yeah, yer too cool for a lot of things ain’tcha?”

They lay together for a while, neither speaking. Alastor did close his eyes, to appease Angel, but when Angel snuck a peek later, they were open again. Angel let it be; if it made Alastor happy to look, let him look.

Angel slept curled up in a ball most of the night, protecting his vulnerable parts, an old habit that died hard. It was only when he started to wake that he stretched out, though soon after he lay contained and little again, eyes open, watching Alastor back.

“Can’t remember the last time I was in bed with a guy without his dick in me,” Angel mumbled, a derisive little laugh following the statement. “My life’s not active, it’s  _ monotonous _ . Day in, day fucking out. Get woken up, dragged outta bed, down ta the studio. Shoot a scene, stop for coffee, take a leak, change costumes. Fuck a guy, suck a guy, boom. Cut. Next.”

Angel stretched out again, nuzzling the pillow. He was looking into the room but not at Alastor, just through him. He felt the words tumbling out without his express permission, he didn’t even bother to stop them.

_ “‘I booked you a gangbang, babycakes,’ fuck. _ Like I don’t have better things to do. Better  _ demons _ to do. Those guys in the studio they’re just so…  _ rigid. _ In and out, in and out, just  _ sawing _ into me like their cock’s the second fucking coming, and that’s  _ if _ they’re coming! So stoned out on steroids they can get it  _ up _ but get nothing  _ out, _ it’s all in post production. Or  _ Val _ comes in, helpful as ever, drags me away to  _ fix me up _ before shoving me into the last scene covered in come and bruises as those some other fucko managed to let loose.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked about this at all, let alone so bluntly, so out in the open where Val couldn’t hear. Because Val  _ couldn’t hear, _ not in this place, not with Alastor.

Angel couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept somewhere he couldn’t feel Val’s presence seeping through the very walls.

“If he touches me again, I’m going to scream,” Angel added, quiet, and too real, too vulnerable. Even for here. Even for this safe space. It was a thought he tried not to admit to, even on his own. A dangerous thought. That way lay madness. There was no future that didn’t hold Val’s hands in it, and no point in longing for one.

Angel pushed himself up and out of the bed, face pale and drawn. He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have said any of it.

“There are other opportunities for theatrical pursuits, even here in Hell,” Alastor called quietly. Angel ignored him, grabbing his clothes from the pile he’d made on the bathroom floor. “Radio shows, of course, but I’ve seen a few stages set up as well. Picture shows, if you  _ must _ .”

“Don’t,” Angel said quietly, tugging his panties up over his hips. He was still sore from that session. All day, he was going to feel it, and think of his time with Alastor. 

“You’re unhappy.”

Blunt, to the point.

“You’re frightened.”

_ That _ , that was worse. That pulled a full body flinch from Angel, and he whirled on Alastor with his skirt still around his thighs. “ _ Don’t _ ,” he said again. “Don’t  _ do that _ .”

Alastor watched him, quiet. 

“I need the job,” Angel said stiffly. “Rent doesn’t pay itself.”

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. “How much are you paying in rent?” He asked, sitting up in the bed.

Angel knew what he was getting at. Thousands of dollars a month for three months now, seeing Al once or twice a week and pocketing wads of bills that should have more than covered a one bedroom. 

“You don’t think he lets me  _ keep _ all that?” Angel said, forcing derision into his tone.

“I see no reason why you should need a manager at all,” Alastor said. “You seem to have no trouble finding clients without his…  _ assistance _ .”

“There’s a contract,” Angel said stiffly. “One with my name on it, signed in blood. You’re some kinda powerful hot shot, you should know what it’s like to sign a deal down here.”

Alastor’s expression didn’t change, narrow eyed, steely-gazed. Angel could taste the crackle of electricity in the air. Angel couldn’t tell if he was mad at Val, the situation, or Angel himself, but every hair on his body was prickling up and he couldn’t take the static anymore.

“I have to go,” Angel said, reaching for his jacket. “I’m gonna be late.”

“ _ Stop _ .”

Angel froze, like he did for Alastor’s infrequent commands during their sessions, like he had no control over his own body. He felt a rush of heat, the same one he had any time Alastor reached out and  _ participated _ . He couldn’t help himself.

“Angel,” Alastor said slowly, sounding so very close. “The next time you need a night away, do not wander the streets looking for me.”

Angel swallowed around the dread in his chest. “Al, look, I-”

“Just call.” Alastor skirted him, arm held out, a simple flip phone in his hands. A phone that Val didn’t know about, couldn’t bug or trace.

Angel didn’t know what to do with the sudden rush of emotion, so he did what he always did, and cracked a joke instead. “It caused you physical pain to buy that, didn’t it?”

“You and I are both a certain brand of masochist, aren’t we?” Alastor replied. Angel snorted, shaking his head. He grabbed the phone before he changed his mind and bent to tug on his boots so Alastor wouldn’t see how damp his eyes were.

“You like me that much you can just say so, ya know.”

“I like you well enough,” Alastor smiled that manic grin again, and Angel felt his own smile grow wider. He didn’t kiss johns, but he could make an exception for Alastor. He  _ wanted  _ to make an exception for Alastor. Instead, he blew him a smooch and sashayed towards the main room.

“See ya around, hot stuff.”

He couldn’t stop smiling the entire way back to the studio.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You will come,” Alastor said firmly. “You will sit while I cook. You will say whatever thought enters your head, as you always do. You will not lie for my sake.”_
> 
> _“Yes, Alastor,” Angel murmured, following where he was led._
> 
> Angel gets reminded who he belongs to, and comes back to the one he wishes he belonged to instead.

Three weeks and two sleepovers from the morning Alastor gave Angel the phone, Angel’s luck ran out.

It had been bound to happen, sooner or later. Angel spent more time out of the studio than in it, and though he’d been giving Val good money for it, at the end of the day, Val liked control more than cash. He liked to have Angel where he put him, not off doing his own thing.

It was just a shame that Angel had already told Alastor he was coming over.

Val had a key to Angel’s apartment. He didn’t need one, really, but it was clear that he liked the showmanship of it, using an actual key to let himself in as he pleased. Angel’s door was shoddy plywood on an old janitors closet above a porn studio, but Val was nothing if not a drama queen. Angel had just finished shoving a change of clothes into a bag when Val let himself in, without so much as a knock or a  _ footstep _ to let Angel know he was coming.

“What are you up to, darling?” Val cooed, his body filling the doorframe, tall and imposing, as if he had to  _ try _ to intimidate Angel. Angel dropped his bag with a small, startled curse.

“V-Val! I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Weren’t you?” Val tilted his head, a dangerous smile on his face. “I told you I’d be coming to check on you.”

Angel swallowed. “T-tomorrow,” he said. “I told you I had a john lined up, you said you’d be by tomorrow.” Hidden by the bed, he nudged the bag -- Alastor’s phone tucked inside -- under the mattress. 

“I changed my mind. You can reschedule.”

“I-”

Val took a step further into the room. “Didn’t you miss me Angelcakes? While you were off fucking half the city?”

“Of course, Daddy,” Angel put on his winning smile. He caught Nuggs before he could run up to Val, knowing how little Val thought of pets in general, and set him into his little nook, where the little pig oinked and settled. “I wouldn’t work so hard if it weren’t for you.”

_ “I _ think,” Val continued, stepping closer, setting the tip of one finger beneath Angel’s chin. “That you’ve been getting a little  _ loose,  _ a little too…  _ brave _ with your explorations.”

“Still tight as ever,” Angel quipped, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Val’s, he couldn’t. It was like the man held him in thrall every time he stared Angel down like this. 

He’d found it flattering, once.

He’d thought he’d been in love, once.

“Show me, baby boy. Show Daddy how much you’ve missed me.”

Angel swallowed. The last thing he wanted was this. He’d avoided being fucked by Val for  _ weeks _ by being on time to shoots, working overtime, never complaining, rushing out to the streets…

_ If he touches me again, I’m going to scream. _

Angel gently held on to Val’s wrist, hoping his distant expression read as expectant rather than dissociative, and pushed up onto his toes to kiss him. A finger to his lips stopped him.

“Now, now, none of that,” Val purred. “I want to see my little  _ slut _ today, the boy who drives me  _ mad _ with hunger. I’ve missed that Angel of mine.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth. Angel tried to remember who he was,  _ what _ he was. He let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. 

“Whatever you want, Mista Valentino.”

* * *

Val spent the night, wrapped around Angel like an overheated octopus. He didn’t normally spend the night; if he wanted Angel for that long, he usually took him back to his place, preferring the comfort of his king sized bed over Angel’s little double, taking up most of the room. 

That was how Angel knew he was in trouble, besides the bitemarks and bruises, besides the fact that Val had used him so thoroughly he  _ tore _ . 

“I think,” Val whispered against his throat the next morning, fucking tired whimpers from Angel’s lips, “you’ve been getting a little too independent, babydoll. Forgetting just who you belong to.”

“You, Daddy, always you.”

“Mmm, that’s right, baby.”

When he left, Angel learned that his door locked inescapably from the outside. He stared at it, wide-eyed, still naked, sheets half off the bed, and then limped towards it frantically. 

“Val,” He called, smacking his fist against the door, “Val, what-”

“I think you need a few days to cool down, sweetheart,” Val cooed. “You’re working too hard. I need my best performer in top shape.”

Angel made another helpless sound and looked around his room in a panic. “Val, my phone--”

“You won’t need that, sweetheart, who would you be calling if not me? And I’ll be checking in on you when I have the time. I’m a busy man, sweetcheeks, but I always make time for you.”

The implication was clear:  _ make time for me. All your time should be about me. _

Angel’s breathing picked up a little, and he waited until he heard retreating footsteps before crawling back into bed and curling up as small as he could get himself, tears slipping from between closed lids as he tried to keep his sobs quiet.

“No, no, no, no,” he whimpered, hands over his ears, two more over his eyes. He jerked when he felt a weight on the bed but sighed out when it turned out to just be Fat Nuggets. God, he couldn’t even take his buddy for a walk, being locked in as they were.

He had no food in here, a toilet and a shower and water, but nothing to eat. He couldn’t stretch his legs, his window looked out to the back wall of the next building over.

He felt stifled. He felt like he was choking.

He must have fallen asleep, because when he woke he was sore and hungry. Nuggs snoozed next to him, kicking softly in his sleep, and Angel reached out to stroke his belly. At least they were safe. They might be locked away but they were  _ safe. _ At least til Val came back again.

Angel lay in bed, staring into space, staring into nothing at all, reliving the revolting experience of the night before, when something hummed quietly on the floor. And again. Like a ringtone.

A  _ ringtone. _

Angel scrambled for his bag, for the tiny phone inside that Alastor had given him, and immediately turned it off. He couldn’t talk to anyone just then, his place had no insulation whatsoever, and these walls had ears. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk Al. Sure, he was a bigshot, but so was Val.

And Val…

Angel had done a little bit of research, in the months since knowing Alastor. Not a lot; the politics of Hell eluded and bored him in equal measures. But enough. Enough that he realized it was  _ Alastor’s _ name he sometimes heard hissed in furious tones when Val gathered with his friends. Enough to understand that if Val ever found out  _ Alastor _ was Angel’s biggest client, there would be Hell to pay and then some.

And Angel couldn’t lose that freedom, that escape, that safety.

* * *

Val kept him locked away for a week, during which he alternated between abandoning Angel completely and using him for hours until his voice was hoarse from screaming. Angel’s ‘restful’ week was spent being thoroughly put in his place. By the end of it, he was exhausted and limp, and  _ somehow _ his body had located about ten pounds and thrown them off a cliff.

He couldn’t starve to death, or die at all, but he could suffer. Val brought a single meal every time he visited, four total, and Angel had given most of that to Nuggs, who’d been quite agitated to be made to use the restroom on the bathroom floor rather than be taken for walks.

The first thing he did, once set free with a condescending pat on his head, was take Nuggs for a long walk, sore limbs and ass be damned. The second thing, once he was far enough away that any of Val’s spies might not be able to tell Alastor’s phone wasn’t Angel’s usual, was check his messages.

He had forty missed calls from Cherri and seven from Alastor, one for each day he’d been gone. Cherri had sent him a novel’s worth of texts, Alastor had sent none, no doubt calling from the rotary phone in his kitchen. He’d left a voicemail, though.

_ Angel. _

A long, uncertain pause, a feedback loop from the microphone until it was silenced by the thunk of Alastor’s cane being tossed aside.

_ You missed our arranged meeting. I presumed work, but I haven’t seen any advertisements for a new picture show. Please call, when convenient. _

Another breath, then a click as Alastor hung up.

Alastor knew he wasn’t working, knew he wasn’t walking the streets. God only knew what he  _ thought _ was happening, and Angel didn’t think he could explain over the phone. Or at all. 

When he returned home, he curled up in bed again, helpless and quiet, and didn’t leave again until Nuggs snuffled against him and demanded to go out once more. To be safe, Angel didn’t venture near Beezle Avenue until late the next evening, after another shoot, after another harrowing few moments of being pinned by Val against a wall and molested.

He slunk from shadow to shadow, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, until he got to the foyer of Al’s building. Then he called the elevator, relaxing only when it opened its doors on the thirtieth floor. His knock was too frantic, too eager, but he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

The door opened, and Angel immediately slipped into the space, without being invited. At that moment, he didn’t care. He just needed to be in that space, where he knew no one could listen in, where no one could pull him out kicking and screaming unless Alastor let them.

He hoped he wouldn’t let them.

“Sorry I got caught up,” he started, but he didn’t feel it, that chipper flirtatious persona he usually wore like a cape. He felt too tired, it felt too heavy. “Val he uh… he kept me umm. Just to make sure I was all good, ya know? Just to uh…”

Angel could feel tears creeping into his tone and swallowed, sniffing. He affected a laugh that came out sounding wet.

“He wouldn’t… wouldn’t let me out for a week. I couldn’t risk callin’ back without him findin’ the phone and--”

“Angel.”

Angel looked at him, at the furrowed brows over those red eyes that he’d missed, thought about when he’d stared at the ceiling and hoped his bed wouldn’t break from the marathon fucking he was getting on it.

“I’m sorry,” his voice broke and Angel groaned, shoving a fist against his eye. “I’m sorry, I did every… everything I could to get out of it, but he wouldn’t--“

“You’re thin.”

Angel blinked, looking at Alastor through wet eyes, then down at himself. He hadn’t thought it would be noticeable, with how lanky he already was and how baggy his clothes were, but he’d been too distraught to fluff up his hair and his chest the way he usually did. No curves to be seen, just sweats hanging off a bony frame. 

“Skinny is the new black,” Angel quipped half-heartedly, cringing at the expression on Alastor’s face, the ever present smile stretched just a bit too wide for mortal features. “He, uh. Val’s a busy guy. Can’t drop everything to bring me three squares a day.”

“You were unable to fend for yourself.”

Alastor was never this quiet, even his background static dulled to a faint hum. Angel bit his lip, ducking his head under the attention. 

“I don’t have a kitchen. Usually I eat out.”

Something snapped and whined, as if a hand had slipped on a radio dial and knocked the tuning out in one quick burst. Alastor spun on his heel, marching towards the kitchen. “Come.”

Angel shook his head. “He let me out yesterday, I’ve eaten since--“

“Angel.”

That tone, that firm unyielding voice. As if Alastor had sprung from Angel's deepest fantasies, the sort of commanding presence he lived for, the control he’d thought Val would offer, only to be betrayed. 

With Alastor, there was never betrayal. Never disappointment. Never fear. 

“You will come,” Alastor said firmly. “You will sit while I cook. You will say whatever thought enters your head, as you always do. You will not lie for my sake.”

“Yes, Alastor,” Angel murmured, following where he was led. They didn’t talk much; Alastor pulled out a chair for Angel, the chair he usually sat in when they had coffee, or dinner, or just sat together, and moved off to the kitchen to start something up.

He hummed as he worked, something pleasant and light, something that if Angel closed his eyes, sounded like the kinds of things his mother would tune the radio to, to get away from the news.

Angel felt his muscles loosen from the long-held tension moment by moment, and he curled both sets of arms over the tabletop and rested his head on them, just allowing himself to relax. After a while, the humming became singing, Alastor’s voice rich and deep and lovely as he rendered anything from Ella Fitzgerald to Harry Richman. The kitchen filled with smells, too, aromatic spicy smells that reminded Angel of Harlem and the Bronx, smells that were never home for  _ him _ but felt like home  _ now. _

“Eat up, my dear,” Alastor interrupted Angel’s fuzzy thoughts moments, or hours, later. Angel looked up over the rim of his arms and caught his breath.

Some kind of stew, with thick cuts of meat and vegetables, beans, peppers, greens… it smelled divine.

“You didn’t haveta do that for me,” he mumbled, flicking his eyes up to catch Alastor’s smile twitching upwards. “But I’m stupid glad you did. Thanks.”

“Cooking is a passion of mine,” Alastor said, with some of his usual passion back in swing. “The flavors, the  _ ingredients _ . I only get the  _ freshest _ cuts from the butcher, you know. If it’s not being carved right in front of me, it may as well be rotten.”

It occurred to Angel, with the spoon halfway to his lips, that the meat in his bowl might not be animal in nature. He paused, trying to figure out if he cared. 

One hesitant bite later, he decided he didn’t. 

“ _ Christ  _ this is good,” Angel moaned. “If my mother could have cooked like this, I’d have been a much fatter kid. Probably a happier one, too.”

“Anything worth doing is worth doing well,” Alastor said, taking a seat across from him. 

“Wish the old broad had agreed with you,” Angel said around another mouthful. “Lotta limp beans and burnt meatloaf in my childhood. Woman never met something she couldn’t blanche to here and back. ‘Fraid my cooking’s not any better.”

“One can always better themselves by learning,” Alastor replied, taking up a spoon of his own. 

“What, cookin’?” Angel asked, he was smiling again, genuinely. “Down  _ here?” _

“My dear boy,  _ gluttony _ is still a deadly sin, according to the archaic traditions above.”

“Yeah, so’s lust, so what?”

“My point,” Alastor smiled wide. “Why fight the stereotypes if they work so well in our favor?”

“Ya know,” Angel rested his head on his palm, stirring his stew pensively. “You’ve got me there. Why the fuck not?”

Angel asked for second helpings, damn near went for third, but realized he’d be sick if he filled his belly after a week of almost constant fasting. He sat back, stroking his stomach, and licked his lips.

“That really hit the spot, thanks.”

“Quite welcome,” Alastor replied, pushing the plates to the side of the table they weren’t using. Angel supposed Niffty would grab them when she was next by, whenever that was. Even when he stayed the night he never caught a glimpse of her. He cleared his throat gently.

“I uh… I’m not sure how much I’ll be up for tonight, but--”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Alastor cut him off. There’s no need.”

“No, I  _ want to _ I just…” Angel shrugged. If he were honest, he wanted a soak in the huge tub and then to crawl into bed and curl up and watch Alastor not sleep til he himself fell asleep. But that wasn’t fair, he wasn’t here for a nap, after all, kindnesses aside, this was still a john and Angel still had a job to do. Even though more and more he’d been opening up, being cruder, more honest about his experiences, his seventy years in Val’s service and being the target of his cruelties.

“Everything just feels like  _ him _ and I hate it,” Angel said finally. “I don’t wanna dirty this place with ‘im, he can go fuck off to whatever corner of Hell he crawled out of in the first place.”

Angel still squirmed a little when he said things like this,  _ especially _ after the week he’d just suffered through. There was a thrill to it, though, a childish little pleasure in sticking it to the man when the man didn’t know.

“Imagined you watching me sometimes,” Angel admitted, sitting a bit lower in his chair, snuggling into his hoodie. “To make it easier to take.”

He didn’t look at Alastor. He knew he’d be looking back, and for once, Angel wasn’t sure how to respond to that sort of rapt, unearned attention. 

“I wouldn’t have watched,” Alastor said. Angel jerked in his seat, an uncontrollable flinch. He knew that Alastor had a bad habit of explaining things in the worst manner possible, but the guarded response had been trained into him by one too many backhanded compliments. 

Alastor didn’t reach for him, but he slid a cup of coffee an inch closer, its own kind of comfort. 

“It’s not the acts that please me,” Alastor told him. “You know this. I enjoy watching  _ your _ enjoyment. With  _ him _ , there may be pleasure, but there isn’t enjoyment. I don’t take joy in your suffering, Angel, unless it is a suffering you are eager to offer me.”

The words hung between them, unspoken, but the meaning was clear: Val  _ did _ take joy in Angel’s suffering, and not in the kinky playtime sort of way. He took joy in breaking Angel to pieces, and here Alastor was, telling him in no uncertain terms that he found it unacceptable.

Someone else who knew Angel, who saw him raw and open and vulnerable and found beauty in it. Someone on his side. The tears came hot and uncontrollable, and Angel found himself weeping into his coffee.

There was a humming noise, not the usual static, but a genuine tune. A lullabye, in the background, though Alastor hadn’t moved to turn on the gramophone. This was coming from  _ him _ . 

“If I were to offer you an extended contract,” Alastor began.

“He wouldn’t stand for it,” Angel muttered hatefully. “One night is his limit, and even that, I can only steal sparingly.” 

“Has he ever had the gall to pull you from a client?”

Angel laughed, one single, humorless note. “He has the gall to do anythin’ he wants. He  _ owns _ me.”

“But has he?”

Angel thought back. Only if someone was at the studio and ‘borrowing’ Angel for a while, and only if Val wanted him for a shoot or his own enjoyment. He’d never actually stalked Angel out to a night with a john and pulled him out before.

But he knew he could, Angel knew that should Val choose, he could do anything he wanted.

“Should he find reason to interrupt a scheduled meeting,” Alastor continued, when Angel’s silence was clear enough. “I shall meet him at the door.”

“Don’t,” Angel nearly choked on his own breath. “Don’t do that, you don’t have to do that, you’ll… he’s not an enemy you want to have, okay? ‘Specially not coz ‘a me.”

“I have many enemies,” Alastor countered, and his smile had grown to something a little more manic. Something flickered over his shoulder, a pop of red, a symbol. “Yet here I live, here to be found if they come looking.” he leaned a little closer, enough that Angel could smell the ozone, could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Let him come looking.”

“You were human, once,” Angel pointed out, wiping wetness from his cheeks. “I know ya were. You’ve mentioned it. Val wasn’t, not ever. He came from the goddamn pits themselves, you can’t throw yourself in the ring with ‘im. Not for a back-alley whore.”

_ Snap _ . Out went the light above the stove, the one where the wiring was a bit faulty, the one that was  _ always  _ the first to go when something had Alastor on edge. 

“You are an escort,” Alastor said, in a voice that echoed faintly and sounded far away, like he was advertising a box of cereal on air, not comforting a hooker. “And when allowed to do your job on your own terms, quite a good one. You perform better when you feel safe, and I have not had refreshing entertainment in a very long time. Valentino would not be the first Overlord to cross paths with me.”

As he spoke, his shadow loomed, growing more distinct. For the first time, Angel could see the true, monstrous shape of it.

It didn’t scare him.  _ Alastor _ didn’t scare him, and Alastor scared everyone, from the lowest of scum to the demons who worked in the building’s lobby and saw him every damn day. 

“Not for me,” Angel said quietly. “That’s… This is a business arrangement, right? Ya don’t go throwing yer life away for that.”

Alastor’s aura hummed with displeasure, and then cut out abruptly, as if he had flicked his emotions off with a single switch. “A business arrangement,” he agreed. “I think, tonight, I would prefer to get a bit more hands on.”

Angel blinked, eyes searching Alastor’s face, before he tilted his head. “What didja have in mind?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you want me to play naughty?”_
> 
> _“No need to play at it,” Alastor replied. “You cannot be anything but what you are.”_
> 
> _“Wanna chase me?”_
> 
> _“I never chase,” Alastor tilted his head, crop swinging from his fingertips. “It’s beneath me."_

They had talked about pain before. Angel had started to almost look forward to beatings, so he could immediately go to Al’s and show him the marks. It helped get through them, anyway.

They had talked about the kind of pain they both loved to experience -- Alastor as the giver, Angel the receiver. It seemed that they were almost creepily compatible in that sense. Angel often joked that had they met in the upworld, they would have made quite the pair. Alastor didn’t argue it, they would have.

They had talked, but they had never played, not really. 

The first time Alastor had touched Angel had been by proxy of his shadow. It had felt similar to the red smoke that Val controlled, but warmer, almost eerily human. Angel hadn’t even realized it wasn’t Alastor touching him til after he’d come, panting on the bed and grinning sleepily at him.

Now, Alastor manifested a riding crop, well-used and slightly softened, and set it with a click to the table between them.

“Perhaps this?” He said, allowing Angel to look his fill. And boy did he ever. He couldn’t help himself, a quip bubbled up in his chest, aching to burst free.

“That baby’s seen more ass than you have,” he said, biting his lip and looking up at Alastor.

“Who do you think broke it in?” Alastor asked. Angel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not  _ virginal _ , Angel. I may not have a taste for all the pleasures you seek for yourself, but there are certain delicacies I’ve allowed myself.”

“Who’d you get to stand still long enough?”

Alastor’s teeth seemed to sharpen, knife-like in their appearance. “I had quite a reputation, upworld,” he said. “They never did find all the bodies. A shame, I worked so hard on the gift wrapping. It really is all about  _ presentation _ .”

Angel whistled. “Long as I don’t have to stitch myself back together.” He thought about mentioning the times he’d already had to do it, then considered Alastor’s poor lightbulbs and took pity on them. 

Alastor took up the crop once more, passing it from hand to hand, giving it an experimental little flick. “What sort of performance would it be if you didn’t get to take a bow at the end?”

“Adequate,” Angel quipped back, but he was smiling. He felt giddy. He still ached from what Val had done to him but this… this was different. Pain was pain was pain, but this was  _ Alastor. _ Alastor who had ghosted his hands so close to Angel’s bruised skin that he had felt the heat of them, Alastor who had slid his shadow’s palm down Angel’s back, leaving phantom marks in its wake.

Alastor, who Angel  _ wanted _ to hurt him.

He stood up from his seat and stretched, toes to fingertips, and gave Alastor a look.

“Do you want me to play naughty?”

“No need to play at it,” Alastor replied. “You cannot be anything but what you are.”

“Wanna chase me?”

“I never  _ chase _ ,” Alastor tilted his head, crop swinging from his fingertips. “It’s beneath me. But I  _ do _ want you to go to the window. And clothes off, if you please, I’d like to see the canvas I’m painting.”

“Who’da thought you’d be such a kinky bastard,” Angel grinned, yanking his hoodie off and letting it drop to the floor. “If I’m a good boy do I getta see yer shadow?”

The shadow in question flickered, slightly out of step with Alastor’s motions, as if startled.

“Kink is nothing if not performance art,” Alastor said, in lieu of an answer, “and I am nothing if not an artist.”

He sounded as if he had one of his more bombastic speeches budding on the back of his tongue, but when Angel glanced back at him as he moved towards the window, his eyes were on Angel’s spine.

It was just a few pounds, but Angel’s demonic body held very little fat to begin with. He wasn’t entirely sure he  _ could _ gain weight; before Val, he’d been too poor to test it, and after Val… He was still too poor, and now had someone constantly harping on him about his diet. Angel reached behind himself and wondered if his vertebrae had always been so defined under his skin, if he was imagining the stretch.

Imagination or not, it had caught Alastor’s attention. His expression was stilted as he came to stand beside Angel.

“Pants and underwear,” he said quietly. “Then place your hands on the glass.”

Angel watched the reflection; mirrors had always been a key instrument in seeing the supernatural, and it was just as true down here as in the upworld. Alastor’s shadow stretched tall and dark, dark enough that the black around it seemed to be sucked into it, like a black hole. Hollow eyes that Angel could  _ still _ feel looking at him. He flicked his eyes to catch Alastor’s in the reflection, and tucked his thumbs into his waistband as he set two hands to the window.

“Yes, Al.”

_ Yes, Val, it is always yes, Val. There is no ‘no’, no ‘please’, I own you, and I treat my property as it deserves to be treated. _

Angel shivered, set his forehead to the window, and stepped out of his clothes.

He felt the coil of it, familiar and red, but when he opened his eyes, it was black that was curled beneath his chin, gently guiding him to straighten up again.

“Eyes up,” Alastor said, and Angel looked, through the glass and into Alastor, and felt his entire body shiver with need. The words swirling in his head took on a new tone, a new timbre, and he bit his lip, turning his head just a little to feel the shadow stroke his skin before it vanished into thin air.

“Yes, Al,” he said again. He set all four hands to the glass, kept his eyes on his reflection, and on the demon behind him. In the glass, Alastor was several people at once, he flickered like a badly tuned television. His shadow spawned multiple creatures, all surrounding them, watching, curious. Angel groaned, arching his back. “Fuck, please hit me.”

“You enjoy this.” Not a question. A statement. Alastor knew damn well he did. Angel had complained often enough about shitty porno Doms who didn’t know the right end of a paddle. 

There was a smart-assed remark on the tip of Angel’s tongue, as always, but before he could give it voice, the crop came down just above the curve of his ass.

“Everybody has their limits,” Alastor said, his voice smooth as silk, wrapping around Angel’s bare form. Angel felt surrounded by the truth of him, as though Alastor had truly unleashed himself for the first time. Without Angel looking at him, he could let go, flood the penthouse with his presence. This was the reason every room tasted like him, when no one had ever properly utilized them before Angel.

“Not me,” Angel promised. The crop trailed lightly down his spine, then smacked against his inner thigh, drawing a yelp from him. 

“Even you,” Alastor said. “Though perhaps less restrictive than they might have been on Earth. There’s not a thing you couldn’t survive, not a single thing I couldn’t do to you and yet you put yourself here, at my mercy.”

Outer thigh, this time, and Angel let out his next breath in a low hiss.

“Mercy isn’t something I have very much of, and there is beauty in breaking,” Alastor continued. “But I think a smaller goal, for today, and together we will work our way up. Tell me, Angel, where you would ask me to stop if it was you who guided the whip.”

“I wouldn’t,” Angel said, catching Alastor’s eye in the window. Or one of them. He shifted in and out of sight, the glass unable to pin down his true form, the energy that radiated off him. “Whatever you wanna do, you should do it.”

“There’s  _ plenty.” _ Alastor’s voice echoed, thrummed through Angel’s veins; it felt like the beat in a dance club, like a driving rhythm, a living force. A click, a pop, not a bulb blowing this time but something else; Angel couldn’t see behind the shadows Alastor had conjured to be their audience, but he was certain something had broken. He was surprised the windows weren’t cracking with the electricity in the room.

“So are you gonna--”

The blows came in quick succession, and all in one place, and Angel cried out despite himself, adrenaline spiking, straightening his spine.

“Fuck,  _ fuck, oww!” _

It felt good, it made Angel want to laugh with how good it felt, so he did. Bright and loud, mingling with the little whimpers of pain as the crop found more sensitive skin and struck against it all the harder.

Over his ass, his thighs, leaving the skin smarting, bright pink. Angel  _ glowed, _ the rush of blood so violent it pulsed against him. 

He didn’t ask Alastor to stop, and Alastor didn’t, caught up in his own fantasy, in his own strange headspace as he beat Angel quite literally bloody. Angel ducked his head to look, but another coil of shadow tilted his chin back up again, forcing him to look out into the city instead, the fuzzy reflection of Alastor in all his forms seemingly hanging over it.

The whipping stopped, and for a moment nothing but Angel’s whimpers and sobs could be heard. Then the whistle of the crop through the air, striking nothing, causing Angel to flinch so badly his hands slipped on the glass.

“You’re radiant,” Alastor told him. When Angel tried to find him in the reflection again, he was much closer, holding the crop out. “Lick this clean for me, would you? The blood on it might dull the sting.”

Angel’s movements felt sluggish. This, this was what he’d been missing. This safe, hazy feeling. He’d felt it in life, and a few times back at the beginning with Val, but lately, lately…

“Ys’sr,” Angel mumbled, lapping at the damp tongue of the crop, moaning at the taste of copper and sweat.

He felt eyes on him, the good kind, the sort of attention that made him soar, and he leaned heavily against the glass, supporting himself with his upper arms and his chest, his lower arms rubbing at his stomach, his neck, chasing that tingling, sweet sensation. He was hard, he knew, but that seemed so much less important than just  _ touch _ , just making his nerve endings spark to life. 

“Angel,” Alastor said after a moment. 

“Mmm?” Angel hummed, half a beat to slow. Alastor’s reflection nodded. 

“Just a few more, then,” he said, so quiet Angel nearly missed it.

‘A few’ might have been five. Angel couldn’t focus well enough to remember to count. They came at even intervals, across his ass, the inside of his thighs, and then one at his hip, one that his fingers would linger over long after it had healed.

Something touched him, not Alastor, but a connection, caressing his arm. “Angel,” Alastor said, voice soft. “Drop.”

Angel went, sliding down the glass to his knees, folding over himself,  _ collapsing _ in a heap of pure sensation and weightlessness.

Footsteps stopped right beside him, and a voice he adored said words he needed so badly and heard so rarely:  _ “good boy.” _

* * *

Time worked differently in Hell, it moved at once faster and slower. Sinners healed up pretty quick if they got hurt, that was sort of the point of being down here in the first place, but something that up there could last a second could span for years and years down below.

Angel didn’t remember much. 

He remembered smiling, hazily reaching out before his hand dropped against his belly and he passed out. He remembered water, warm and carefully sleuced over him, at once stinging and soothing. He remembered sinking again, into something warm and familiar and safe.

When he woke, it was quietly, eyes barely open and the shapes before them fuzzy and formless. He blinked, and again, and slowly the bedroom came into focus, one of the curtains drawn despite it still being dark outside. It was quiet, just the usual gentle hum of electricity that this place radiated when he was here, and Angel sighed out a soft little groan, turning his face to nuzzle the pillow.

It felt a little different, though, a little more firm and formed. And the material wasn’t the soft silky cotton he usually drooled into when he knocked out cold. Angel blinked again, trying to get whatever was beneath him in focus. Red. Just red.

Weird.

Something shifted his hair, a gentle thing, like a breeze or a breath, but Angel didn’t feel air anywhere else on his body. Maybe he’d really dropped this time. The good kinda drop where you don’t come up for hours and hours and everything hurts for days after. Maybe he’d dropped and was confusing things, dreaming things up, wishing for things that weren’t real.

Coz he could have sworn someone was stroking his hair.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He hated that he wanted things. He hated that he couldn’t turn that part of himself off, even down here, and just ride the vice as it came at him._
> 
> _But he did want._
> 
> _It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, either, or the second, or even the third._
> 
> _If Angel was honest with himself, it was something he’d wanted for a long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kiss? After all this time????

Angel walked on tiptoes for a few weeks. He snuck calls with Alastor whenever he could, taking Nuggs for long walks so that he could sneak a few words in.

**_“Please_ ** _ get a phone that can text.” _

_ “No.” _

Other than that, he was on his absolute best behavior. Alastor offered ‘contracts’ often, but Angel went at least two weeks between full-on sleepovers, making sure whenever Val looked for him, he was there. Sometimes, he showed up at Alastor’s with Val’s marks all over him, and Alastor would whip or cut them until they were his own.

Other nights, he was on his own, screaming into a pillow over the hell that was his life. 

He was no longer seeing other johns. He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped,  _ why _ he’d stopped. Sure, Alastor paid him good money, a  _ fuckton _ of money, but more money was always good. He just… didn’t want to. He got enough of other men touching him when Val had him do his shoots.

Or when Val crept into his room and sealed them in together.

Angel had a plan, though. It was a  _ stupid _ plan, but it was a plan. Rent, drugs, food for himself and Nuggs, and  _ fashion _ all tended to cut into his savings -- and he had to admit to splurging a bit on himself now that it was an option, rather than waiting for Val to feel charitable -- but he was still putting aside as much as he could hide from each visit with Alastor. By now, Angel had a couple grand stored up, and he was beginning to wonder:

What was the price of a soul?

How much would buy his contract off of Val?

He was too scared to ask, too scared to hear that the answer could be  _ nothing. _ Too scared that seventy years would turn into seventy more, and on and on and on.

He relished the feeling of absolute exhaustion after a session with Alastor, though. It blurred the lines between silence and static, made his mind feel light and heavy all at once. He didn’t think about anything, then, but how sore he was and how good that felt, he felt almost alive.

And boy was that a rush.

One evening he showed up to something new in the living room, something that usually wasn’t there, and that Angel hadn’t seen anywhere else in the apartment now that he’d explored damn near every inch of it.

A clothes rack, simple as anything, and on it… flapper dresses, hand-beaded, Angel knew, coz he’d seen dresses like this as a teen, his queerness burning him from the inside out, aching to put something as beautiful as that on and knowing he never could. Black and gold and white and teal, heavy and cool to the touch.

“Al,” Angel shrugged off his bag and folded his arms over his middle. “What’re these?”

“I’ve realized I’ve been  _ less _ than a gentleman, and that can’t stand,” he was chipper again, that bright tone always making Angel smile and feel some sort of way deep in the pit of his belly. “I’ve bought you some presents my dear. Every young lady deserves a beautiful dress to wear.”

“But I’m not--”

“You are who you are, sweetling, nothing more or less than that.” Alastor replied. He set his cane to the ground and rested both hands on it. “I do hope I estimated your size correctly.”

Everything in Hell had to be custom tailored, to fit a variety of shapes and sizes. If an Earth-based brand had tried to make clothes that fit Angel, his size probably would have been a -4. Magic was almost always involved, though Angel would not put it past Alastor to have measured him in his sleep. 

They were probably going to fit perfectly. Angel’s breath caught in his throat. He was afraid to touch them. Almost everything nice he owned had either been salvaged and restitched himself, or a gift from Val, meaning not always to his taste. Or for studio/pole use, only. 

There were five, in different colors, with different hem lengths. One, in a deep navy, looked as practical and professional as you could get and still be a flapper dress.

So, of course, it was the one in a bold shade of pink that Angel gravitated towards. He traced the beading with one finger, afraid if he touched too roughly, the whole thing would fall apart. 

“They’re not for looking at.” Alastor’s voice cut through Angel’s musings, and he snatched his hand back, as if he’d been caught doing something inappropriate. “They’re meant for you to wear, dearheart.”

Hand beading in Hell, holy  _ fuck _ . An elaborate pattern, too, not just something quick and simple. Angel had never wanted anything this badly in his  _ life _ . 

“This is way too much,” he said. “I could never afford anything like this.” Well, he probably could  _ now _ , but it would still be a pretty penny, and potential freedom took priority.

“Well, then it’s a good thing you  _ don’t have to!” _ Alastor replied. He looked about as giddy as Angel had ever seen him; it wasn’t quite his manic smile, but it was close. There was genuine desire there, and joy, and something else. Angel snorted.

“Come on, boss, ya can’t just want me to wear ‘em?”

“That’s exactly what I want you to do,” Alastor countered. “I’d like for you to choose whichever catches your eye the most, and put it on, and join me for dinner this evening.”

Angel blinked. “Like on a date?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s a good way to describe it,” Alastor replied, tilting his head. “I fear we’re overdue for one, don’t you?”

Angel swallowed what he was going to say, or do, and just… stood there a moment, smiling like a fool.

Because he was a fool, wasn’t he? Rushing in where wise men never tread, et cetera? This wasn’t a date, or a relationship, or anything but a comfortable transaction. It was nice that he could feel safe here, and sleep here, but this wasn’t anything… else. Alastor didn’t lo--

No.

That word wasn’t going anywhere near Angel again. Not again.

“Yer gonna have to zip me up,” Angel teased instead. Both knew Alastor wouldn’t, Angel had the hands necessary to get around twisty closures, but the idea that he  _ could _ made Angel flush warm as he turned to take the pink dress off its hanger.

God it was heavy, it felt so strangely  _ upworld, _ Angel bit his lip and held it against himself.

There were more traditional dresses on the rack, the boxy cut, the layers and layers of beaded tassels, but this one was already his favorite. A tiered skirt with an irregular hemline, a rose at the hip, and several shades of pale pink adding dimension. Angel was in love.

Normally, he liked to fluff himself up and show off the goods, but he didn’t have to with this dress. The modest neckline didn’t call for curves, it displayed femininity without him having to put any real work into it. He stepped in carefully, pulled it over his hips, and stared down at his own body in awe.

“A little… A little help?” It was hard to get the words out. Angel always felt like a million bucks when he got to dress up, especially when he got to wear something  _ nice _ and not just slutty. Slutty was great, slutty was  _ gorgeous _ , but it didn’t hold a candle to how he felt this minute. 

He felt the zipper slide up his back, and he sighed. It really did fit  _ perfectly _ .  _ Fucking creep _ , he thought affectionately. 

“Next time, warn a guy. I woulda brought my makeup.” He shot Alastor a beaming grin. He always did himself up when he came over, except the time he’d come in sweatpants and tears, but a dress like this deserved something special. Maybe curlers in his hair. 

“You look perfect just the way you are,” Alastor replied. “Besides, we’ve not far to go,” he turned, one arm outstretched in a sweeping gesture to encompass the table they usually sat at. It was set for two, with goddamn  _ candles. _

Angel snorted, and shimmied a little, listening to the beads on the dress knock together.

“Sure know how to spoil a gal,” he muttered, making his way to the table to sit down. Alastor merely hummed. Another flick of his wrist set the gramophone playing, dimmed the lights so only the candles flickered, and joined Angel at the table.

Dinner was nice.

The fact that it wasn’t extraordinary, or overblown, or overdone was what made it so perfect. Angel so rarely had  _ nice _ that when he did get it, it felt novel, like a treat he allowed himself once in a while. They had two courses and dessert, and polished off several bottles of wine in the process.

“Bet I could drink you under a table,” Angel told him, fingertips tracing the rim of his glass as he rested his head in his hands.

“I’ll choose to ignore the innuendo in favor of pouring us another glass.”

Angel laughed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t even makin’ one!”

“Of course not,” Alastor grinned. “Forgive me mistaking your innocence for its polar opposite.”

“Hey,” Angel pointed, amused and giddy, “I wear innocence better than any other fucker out there.”

“I will agree, my dear, that you look good in anything.”

And so it went, until that bottle of wine was gone too, and the candles had burned low, and it was almost too dark to see, except for the endless undying lights of Pentagram City that illuminated the outlines of everything in the livingroom.

Angel stood up, stretching, and walked over to the window, just looking out. He listened to the quiet sounds of things being set away behind him and clenched his fist gently against the glass. He hated that he wanted things. He hated that he couldn’t turn that part of himself off, even down here, and just ride the vice as it came at him.

But he did want.

It wasn’t the first time he’d thought about it, either, or the second, or even the third. 

If Angel was honest with himself, it was something he’d wanted for a long time. 

He heard Alastor behind him, shoes clipping against the marble, cane tapping alongside, until he stopped. Angel knew if he looked up he’d see his reflection in the window, so he didn’t just then. He turned instead.

“Look,” he said, voice trembling. He nearly lost his nerve when Alastor  _ did _ , red eyes locked on Angel. “Look,” Angel said again, clearing his throat. “I know you hate being touched. And I think we’ve done a pretty good job of working around that. I don’t wanna do things to you that you’re gonna hate. But there’s somethin’ I need to do, for  _ me _ , and I really need you to let me.”

Alastor watched him, a low hum of static, cautious but not yet irritated. God, when had Angel learned how to interpret  _ white noise _ as easily as spoken English?

“Just the once,” Angel whispered, stepping closer. “Just one time, and if ya hate it, I’ll never ask for it again.”

Alastor didn’t nod, but nor did he step away. He seemed to be holding his breath, as Angel stepped into his space, waiting for a physical blow. 

Cupping Alastor's cheeks would probably have been too much. Angel imagined it feeling like sandpaper. Instead, he braced just the tips of his fingers against Alastor’s face, holding him steady as he leaned in, dipped his head, and slotted their lips together. 

Initial contact felt like licking a battery, a little sour, a little sting. When Angel pulled back they both took a breath, and Angel leaned in again before he lost his nerve, and this time their lips met with a little more pressure.

Angel’s entire body  _ sang, _ he knew the spots on his skin, those that patterned him, were glowing with how fast his heart was beating, how hard. He made a helpless little noise and opened his mouth a little more and found that that motion was reciprocated as well. He needed to reach out, to touch, to hold onto  _ something, _ but the last thing he wanted was for this to be over, for Alastor to shrink back from a touch that wasn’t welcomed.

So Angel reached for his tie instead, freeing it from the confines of Alastor’s vest, and wrapping it around his hand to keep him close.

Static buzzed, the anticipatory hiss of a lightbulb about to burst but… it didn’t. Instead, Alastor stepped back, slight enough for Angel to follow, not to see it as retreat, their lips still joined in gentle exploration, kisses that were damn near innocent compared to what Angel was subject to on the regular. He stepped back until his own back was at the window and Angel was in front of him. He wasn’t looming, wasn’t shoving Angel against a wall, or a door, or a garbage can, he was pressing  _ himself _ back, allowing  _ Angel _ to loom instead.

“Fuck, Al,” Angel’s voice was weak, soft, and he pushed three hands against the glass to hold himself up, and back, and just close enough that he could  _ feel _ Alastor’s warmth but he wasn’t touching him. He wasn’t touching him anywhere but where they kissed, again, a little deeper this time too.

Then knuckles, leather clad and cool, drew over the outline of Angel’s cheekbone and he was  _ lost. _

He made a sound, soft, high, bordering on embarrassing. He tightened his grip on Alastor’s tie, and Alastor in turn pressed his hand a little more firmly against Angel’s face. 

Angel hadn’t realized how much he was craving touch until it happened. He regretted not a single second of these months with Alastor, regardless of the physical space between them, but to have that touch  _ now _ was an overwhelming gift. Angel felt tears at the corners of his eyes, and he pushed himself a little harder into the kiss, as if that might chase them away. 

Tongue seemed like it would probably be too much, and Angel wasn’t sure his heart could take Alastor stepping away, putting space between them. He could part his lips a little more, though, kiss a bit more urgently and find that Alastor returned his fervor. Alastor kissed like he made out with sex workers on a daily basis, as opposed to going decades with as little physical contact as possible. He kissed like he knew what he was doing. He kissed like he was  _ made _ for Angel, perfected by God Himself, as if the big man gave a fuck about  _ Angel _ . 

“Fucking  _ christ _ ,” Angel whispered, pulling back just half a centimeter, panting against Alastor’s mouth. He was  _ crying _ , of all the times in the world to be crying, and he chose  _ now _ . “We don’t have to,” Angel babbled. “If you hate it, if you don’t wanna…”

Even as he said it, their lips were brushing together, and Angel felt as if he might shatter if he didn’t kiss Alastor again, and again. He wanted to spend hours just kissing him, making up for lost time. 

“Breathe,” Alastor murmured, his breath warm against Angel’s skin, tone so familiar. Angel did, because he always did what Alastor said, and he felt Al’s smile grow against him. “Good boy.”

This time, Alastor kissed him first.

They were still apart, bodies quivering with tension so close but not quite touching, but Angel didn’t care. He didn’t care. He was being kissed like Alastor wanted to be nowhere else and Angel’s entire world made sense for a moment. His reason for being, his reward for seventy years of pure torturous hell. Alastor’s hand spread over his cheek, thumb catching another tear to wipe it away, and Angel nearly collapsed.

They had slowly sidestepped around the contact issue, learning that while Alastor abhorred being  _ touched, _ he sometimes allowed himself to touch instead. Gloved hands, ghosts and shadows, but something. Something that to Angel felt like a goddamn miracle.

He wouldn’t ask for more, he couldn’t. If this was all he got, all Al ever gave him again, Angel would sell his soul all over again.

They broke for air, and Angel risked pressing their foreheads together, lightheaded and dizzy in his pleasure. A soft hum suggested it was acceptable, and Alastor’s hand slipped into Angel’s hair, fingers tucked down to caress his scalp softly. So softly.

Angel looked at him, really looked, past sharp teeth and a buzz of pleased jazz playing faintly in his ears. Past the everpresent grin, past the aura of blackness Alastor carried everywhere he went. 

“Adequate,” Angel breathed. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I’ve got a plan okay?” Angel whispered. “I ain’t just taking this lying down. But I can’t… right now I can’t be with you like I wanna, I can’t. Not til I figure something out.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel decides on a really stupid plan (bless his cursed little soul though) and Val doesn't take it well, as expected. A little warning for the chapter for violence (including a non explicit threat of animal violence, though no animals are harmed), but it's the next couple that have the major warnings so we'll be sure to clue you in on the start notes and give a summary in the end notes for those who want to skip the chapter but keep up with goings on!

“Is it true that the dick tastes the best?” Angel asked. He’d propped his head up on two hands, as the other two petted Nuggs in his lap. He’d brought him over for the first time, and immediately Alastor made a quip about eating him.

_ If you eat him, I’ll eat you! _ turned into a discussion on the intricacies of the cannibal kitchen.

“I’ve savored my fair few,” Alastor replied, and Angel grinned.

“So’ve I. Wonder what the difference is when you swallow  _ everything.” _

“I’m sure I could prepare one for you to find out.”

Angel snorted, shaking his head. When Alastor slid a coffee cup to him and took his seat, Angel just tilted his head and watched him.

After the kiss, Angel had felt so drained. Not like he did after hours and hours of sweat and toil, but like he did when he wasn’t carrying a weight on his shoulders anymore. The fact that Alastor hadn’t just  _ let _ him kiss, but had kissed back, had given Angel the chance to lean over  _ him, _ to guide the speed and depth…

Trust like that? That shit was priceless.

He’d slept curled up and happy the whole night, waking up to Alastor sitting up in bed watching him. Angel had to admit that it wasn’t as creepy as Alastor watching him standing in the corner.

They’d kissed every time they saw each other, since. Nothing as intimate and breathtaking but… enough to have Angel’s knees weak after. He chewed his lip now, considering what he wanted to say, and found the place on Nuggs’ belly that made him snort happily and wriggle. He ducked his head to look.

“So uh, my dance card’s been pretty free lately.”

Almost immediately, a soft waltz began to play through the room. Angel knew Alastor preferred the more natural sound of a gramophone, which meant this was entirely to be a cheeky bastard. He snorted. 

“Show off.”

“I merely thought to set the mood,” Alastor said smoothly, eyes alight with amusement. “Perhaps you might pencil me in on a few lines.”

“You can have everything but the Macarena,” Angel promised. “Too many limbs.”

The look on Alastor’s face was dour, but it was not accompanied by the sort of disgruntled microphone feedback that would signify genuine irritation.

“You can’t fool me,” Angel said. “I know you know the Macarena.  _ Everybody _ knows the Macarena.”

“The nineties were a dreadful time for radio,” Alastor said with a sniff. Angel grinned.

“You  _ do _ know it.”

“Angel,” Alastor said, with a look that said they would  _ not _ be continuing that train of thought. “If you would please, pencil me in for the rest of the book.”

Angel’s heart seemed to stutter. “That’s a big commitment,” he said. “Sure ya don’t wanna try a few turns first and see how your feet feel?”

“I’m certain,” Alastor replied, setting his elbows to the table and slotting his fingers together. When he set his chin to them, he was directly face to face with Angel. “My dance partner is adequate and thoroughly entertaining. I’ve no need for pomp and frippery to catch my attention. I’ve only so much of it to give, after all, and you’re very demanding of it.”

Angel felt himself blush, knew the markings on his chest were glowing, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He felt young and stupid again, but in a way that didn’t hurt. In a way that felt almost like a do-over. He grinned.

“Do I getta wear your jacket?”

Alastor blinked, head tilting. “My jacket?”

“If we’re goin’ steady, do I getta wear your jacket.” Angel clarified. Alastor hummed in consideration, eyes on Angel, before sitting back and shouldering off his coat. It wouldn’t fit Angel, extra limbs aside, he was two heads taller than Alastor but the fact that he didn’t hesitate, didn’t even  _ blink-- _

“I suppose that would be acceptable,” Alastor said, returning to his previous position. “I’ll have it tailored for you.”

Angel choked on a laugh, the smile stealing across his face so fast he couldn’t contain it. Didn’t  _ want _ to contain it. 

He’d never had this sort of thing before. In the 30s, it had been all quick, sleazy hookups in backrooms and truck beds. No one was giving him their jacket and filling in his dance card back on Earth. No one was dolling him up and turning the music on just to see him smile. 

Nobody ever beat him until he was high as a kite in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, either, and wasn’t that a shame?

“Dance with me?” He asked. “For real.”

Alastor held out a hand.

* * *

Accepting payment from Alastor had become so automatic, that they’d been ‘going steady’ for nearly a month before Angel realized what he was doing. He looked at his tidy pile of cash, sewn into the lining of Nuggs’s bed, and winced.

He needed the money. He really did. If he wasn’t taking money from Alastor, he was going to have to go back to hooking, and while he knew it had never bugged Alastor before, maybe it would now? The streets also didn’t pay as much as Alastor did, not by half, and if he tried to cut back his payments to Val, Val would want to know why. Which would mean less money for necessities. It would eat up all his hard-earned savings.

But it wasn’t a relationship if Alastor was paying him for his time, and Angel  _ wanted _ a relationship. He wanted something genuine.

So the next time he had to leave, hating every step he took closer to the door, he didn’t take the money Alastor held out to him.

“Feels weird takin’ it,” Angel shrugged, arms wrapped around his middle.

“Why should it?” Alastor didn’t move away, nor lower his hand. “It’s quite the routine now.”

“Yeah, but,” Angel shrugged again. “I see ya coz I wanna see ya, you don’t have to pay me for my time if I’m comin’ on my own.” He was  _ definitely _ coming on his own. A lot.

“My dear, it’s hardly an inconvenience. And should you wish to raise the fee, considering the state of the economy, I’m more than happy to compensate for that too.”

“No, I just,” Angel frowned, leaning against the door. “I thought ya wouldn’t want to pay me anymore. Money’s not the thing keepin’ me comin’ over, you know that right?”

“But you need it,” Alastor insisted, stepping nearer. Angel held his hands out and shook his head.

“So I’m a charity case now?” his voice was louder than it needed to be, but Angel couldn’t control that just then. Was this still just an act? “Is this some kinky fantasy for you? I thought we were  _ together, _ Al, goin’ steady.”

For the first time in the months they’d known each other, Alastor’s smile dropped.

Not entirely. The stretch of his lips could still, by some imagination, be considered a ‘smile.’ But it faltered, dimmed, became something less than the vibrant sharpness Angel knew so well.

“If you pay me to be here, I’m just your whore,” Angel spat. “And if that’s what you want, then  _ fine _ , but I got other jobs I could be workin’ in between.”

Every light in the room surged, unpleasantly bright, the sensitive one giving an ominous little wobble. They pulsed for a moment, and Angel genuinely worried they were about to have shards of glass rain down around their heads.

And then they settled, and Alastor’s face evened out into something less ominous. He turned on his heel, marching across the room to the closet, retrieving a bundle of red fabric.

“My jacket,” he said, handing the fabric to Angel. “Tailored to your height, your measurements, your arms.”

Angel blinked down at it, fingers tracing the detailing. “Al… I was kiddin.”

“I know. I wasn’t.” Alastor gestured to the room around them, the old-fashioned but immaculate furniture, the humming gramophone. “Do you know what this apartment is worth?”

“I know what you  _ paid _ for it,” Angel muttered, “which was nothing.”

“But it’s  _ value _ is much higher, and I would pay if my dear agent hadn’t been so generous,” Alastor insisted. “And if you were to stay beyond the night, I would fund your expenses. Your care, your feeding, your hobbies. Your pet. There is not a detail I would skip. The money would be gone, regardless, and I would consider it well-spent.”

Angel blinked at him, mouth agape, entirely thrown for a loop. Even upworld he’d never had someone just  _ do stuff _ for him without getting something back. A favor for a favor, a trade, someone forking out unmarked bills but he always  _ paid _ for that. With his body, with his hobbies, with his life, eventually.

And now Alastor was telling him that he wanted to--

“--take care of me?”

“Yes,” Alastor replied. “As a partner does for another. Would it be easier to understand if we shared lodgings and you didn’t see money passing hands?”

What the--

“Al I can’t live here,” he drew a hand through his hair. “It’s… if Val finds this place--”

“Then he’ll find it. We’re acquainted, though it has been several decades.”

“No, you don’t under-- I can’t do that to ya. I can’t put you in  _ danger _ when you wanna look out for me and help me and get me this  _ jacket,” _ Angel didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t felt so helpless in a long, long time. Suddenly he was being offered a kindness, the closest thing to heaven down here or on earth, and he wanted it with his entire being, so much that it  _ ached, _ but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do that to Alastor.

“I assure you, I can more than hold my own against the likes of Mister Valentino.” Alastor’s eyes were dark, dangerous. Angel saw radio waves within them, and shadows without. Alastor’s magic gathered around him, a demonstration of his power that was wasted on Angel, who could never be afraid of him.

“If he killed you, I’d die,” Angel said quietly. The background hum that accompanied Alastor’s ire vanished, sucked out of the very air, leaving them in silence. “If he killed you-- and he  _ could _ , Al, he’s got  _ heavenly weapons _ , he snatches 'em up every damn year-- then I don’t know where I’d go, or what I’d do. But I know that the way I lived before you wasn’t gonna keep me going for much longer.”

“There is nothing Valentino has at his disposal that frightens me,” Alastor assured him. Angel leveled him with a glare.

“If he finds out about you, he’ll flip his shit,” he said. “If you pick a fight with 'im, he’ll kill ya. If he kills ya, you leave me  _ alone _ with him, is that better reasoning?”

An owlish tilt of the head as Alastor considered Angel’s words. “I dislike sending you home to someone who frightens you so clearly,” he confessed.

“I ain’t afraid of him,” Angel insisted, half-hearted and more out of habit than anything else. “I hold my own, and he’s not around every day. He’s got shit to do. I can put up with him if it means I get to keep this. You.”

They were quiet for a moment more, before Alastor sighed and inclined his head. Angel released a breath that he felt he’d been holding for hours, and stepped nearer. He didn’t reach out, never first, just turned his face into Alastor’s palm when he held it out and nuzzled there.

“I’ve got a plan okay?” Angel whispered. “I ain’t just taking this lying down. But I can’t… right now I can’t be with you like I wanna, I can’t. Not til I figure something out.”

Alastor curled his fingers and Angel made a soft little sound, tucking his face against them. After a moment, Alastor passed the bills over to Angel again, hushing him before he could protest.

“Something temporary,” he said, “insurance for a future you want, if you will.” He gently caught Angel’s chin and lifted his head. “I do not pay you for your services,” he assured him quietly. “But for your survival, do you understand?”

Angel nodded, closing his eyes as Alastor leaned in and kissed his forehead. Angel took the money with weak fingers and pocketed it. 

He didn’t stay long after that, as much because he was unable as because he wanted to break the awkward shiver of tension between them. What the fuck did he have to go and bring money up for? Now he had to contend with his heart aching for some happy ever fucking after with Alastor thirty storeys above Petagram City instead of being in the here and now. The here that sucked, the now that sucked worse.

But he had a plan.

He did.

* * *

It took three days for Val to come to him, and Angel convinced himself he was ready when he did. He’d debated with himself, going through scenarios over and over in his head, what would work best. Should he just stop Val in the doorway, pay him, and go? Should he allow himself to be fucked so he was in a more giving mood when Angel told him he was leaving? None of his dreamed up scenarios ended particularly well, but what could he do? He had enough saved up to pay for the whole studio now, surely that would be enough to buy himself some space, buy his freedom?

His entire soul wouldn’t be worth this much money, let alone a piece of it.

Angel didn’t have a bank account-- he’d never had enough savings to justify it, and Val took care of anything that required a little extra formality. The apartment wasn’t even in Angel’s name. He wasn’t sure it was in  _ anyone’s _ name, jail cell that it was. It was probably just studio property he was paying way too much to keep. Every single cent Angel had managed to put aside was now tucked neatly into a cheap clutch, binding it all together without the risk of him dropping bills everywhere in his nervousness.

The clutch was bulging. It was six times the price Angel would have paid for himself, had he been Val. It had to be enough. It  _ had _ to.

“Babydoll.” 

Val loomed in the doorway, tall, imposing. Angel wished he’d taken the initiative and invited him out to dinner. If nothing else, Val’s curiosity might have drawn him out sooner. And he wouldn’t be trapping Angel in this tiny box.

Nuggs was with Alastor, and Angel told himself it was preemptive, getting him out of the way so he could pack in peace. He told himself it was so that he wouldn’t be underfoot, not because he was scared this was going to go south.

“Val.”

Val frowned, his eyes narrowed. “You look  _ scared _ , sweetheart,” he said, in a low, slow voice. “Have you done something I’m going to have to punish you for?”

Angel swallowed. Now or never.  _ Now _ or  _ never. _

“I wanted to make a deal,” Angel said. Val laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“A  _ deal _ ? You already made a deal with me, baby, when you were shivering with withdrawal in the dressing room of that cheap strip joint.”

_ Say: Yes, Val. _

“I… I know, I remember, uh, I was just--”

_ Like you mean it. _

“You know that was a binding contract, angelcakes,” Val continued, stepping deeper into the space, eclipsing the door entirely. “Signed with your blood, sealed with that sweet, pleading voice of yours.”

“I know,” Angel repeated, trembling. He held the clutch out, knowing he wouldn’t be able to let go of it but needing it as far from him as his body allowed. “I want to buy it out.”

Val blinked, tilting his head. “Buy it  _ out?” _

“I’m… I mean, a lotta the stuff in there was you fronting me some cash, right? Like, a lotta cash. So I… I saved up, I wanna pay it back. With interest. So we’re square.”

For a moment Val stood still as though he’d been turned to stone. Then a rumble, low and quiet and menacing as a storm. It grew louder, until Val’s grin was sharp-toothed and wide and the rumble was a chuckle.

“You think you can pay me off, sweetheart?” Val asked, voice almost coy. Angel had never heard him sound so dangerous. “For everything I’ve done for you, the seventy years you’ve been my  _ bitch?” _

Angel didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. He wanted to run,  _ now, _ but his feet wouldn’t move, he was rooted to the floor, shaking.

Val reached out, fast as anything, fingers pinching into Angel’s throat as he squeezed. “Baby… you couldn’t pay me back if my currency was a pound of flesh. The things I’ve  _ done for you.” _

“Val--” Angel dropped the purse, hands up to cling to Val’s as he tightened his grip.

“I made you a star, a household name. Fans, drugs, cock, so much that you could choke on it. I  _ protected you _ from raids, comforted you. Bought you that reeking piglet of yours. Clothed and fed and  _ housed you, you back alley slut piece of shit!” _

“It’s more!” Angel choked out. “It’s more than what I owe you, check it! All my royalties,” not that Val had ever given him anything remotely resembling a  _ percentage, _ “all my late rent. It’s all there, and more!”

Val laughed, so much crueler than he’d ever sounded. “Decades,” he said. “Decades I’ve  _ babied _ you, given you every bit of care I could offer, and you think you can repay that with  _ pocket _ change.”

“Check it,” Angel rasped, fingernails scrabbling uselessly against Val’s wrists. “Check it, Val.”

Val shoved him back. Angel stumbled, trying and failing to regain his balance, even with four arms flailing. He toppled over, smacking his head against the cheap wooden footboard of the bed. He laid there for a moment, dizzy and breathless, as Val scooped the clutch up from the floor.

For a moment, everything was silent, and Angel tried to fool himself. He tried to convince himself that this shocked silence was pleased, that Val was  _ thrilled _ to have so much in return for the scraps he threw Angel. He tried to kid himself, even as he rubbed at the goose egg forming on his scalp, even as the room spun when he tried to stand.

“Angel,” came a low, sweet, crooning voice. A voice that only ever meant trouble. Every hair on Angel’s body stood at attention. He forgot how to breathe.

“Baby,” Val cooed, stepping closer, two arms wrapping around Angel’s waist and yanking him roughly against his chest. “Dollface. Angelcakes. Darlin’. Where. The  _ fuck _ . Did you get this money?”

“I-”

“You been stealing from me?”

“No, Val, never!”

“Then  _ where _ ,” Val hissed, grabbing a fistful of Angel’s hair and hauling him close to whisper in his ear, “did this come from?”

“Just… just odd jobs,” Angel fumbled. “Here and there, jus’--”

“I  _ own you, _ Angel, anything that  _ body of yours _ earns belongs to me.”

“No one touched me!” Angel squeaked. That was true enough, at least. “I’d… it wasn’t sex it was--”

“Where,” Val drew back a hand and slapped him, hard enough that Angel’s whimper carried out the door. “The  _ fuck did you get this?” _

“I earned it!”

“From  _ who?” _

“Randos on the street,  _ I don’t know!” _

“Baby,” Val petted his cheek before slapping him again, catching his chin before Angel could tuck his face away and hide. “You know Daddy doesn’t like when you lie. Or when you steal--”

“I didn’t steal it!”

“I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” Val mused, his tone almost too soft,  _ dangerously _ soft. “You’ve forgotten who you belong to again. Left to fend for yourself, no structure, no  _ discipline,” _

“Val please,”

“I’m feeling generous, sweet, so I will ask you again. You can tell me where this came from, account for every last  _ fucking _ dollar, and I’ll let you go with a  _ gentle _ reminder. I just want to know where my baby boy has  _ been, _ who’s been trying to lure you away from me, hmm?”

Angel swallowed, teeth gritted and eyes filling with tears. He could tell him, could face a quick, agonizing beating and have enough strength to move in the morning. He could tell him, and stay in this loop forever, this day to day of pain and suffering, degradation and manipulation. He could tell him, and lose Alastor, lose the safety of dozing on his lap, the comfort of a finger tracing the line of his cheek, the softness of the bed they shared.

_ “Tell me,” _ Val growled, catching one of Angel’s hands and tearing it away from his wrist, turning it painfully behind his back and tugging, just enough to warn. “Or I swear, angelcakes, I will systematically break every bone in that ungrateful body of yours before I fuck a new hole into it.”

Angel panicked. He couldn’t help himself. He’d  _ survive _ whatever Val put him through, but he knew he wouldn’t  _ want  _ to. Fuck packing, fuck everything in this shithole, he knew if he asked, Alastor would replace it. Without a blink. Wasn’t like he  _ earned _ all that money he had lying around.

Blinded by adrenaline, Angel manifested his remaining arms, flailing hard enough to break painfully free of Val’s grasp, catching him across the jaw with one fist, then another. The noise Val made was pure rage, and Angel scrambled to put space between them, to somehow,  _ somehow _ make it to the door.

He didn’t. Val caught him by the hair and hauled him back, short two arms but with far more strength at his disposal. Angel had the power to summon a gun, but it would only delay the inevitable, and worsen it. If he shot at Val, god, if he even  _ tried _ -

And then it was too late to try. Smoke filled Angel’s lungs, cloying and thick, cherry sweet. He was choking on it, suffocating, clawing at his own face until Val pinned his hands. There was something in the smoke, and Angel had never figured out what, but it left him drained, limp in Val’s arms, his skin tight and tingling. Maybe there was nothing in the smoke, and it was just that there was so fucking  _ much _ of it, burning him from the inside out.

“Ungrateful little bitch,” Val growled, petting Angel’s hair away from his face like a lover. “I’ve spoiled you too much. Time to take away some of those luxuries. We’ll start with the pig.”

He deposited Angel on the bed, throwing him there as if he weighed nothing. Angel bounced, and the bed creaked ominously. He thought he might have a concussion, or maybe it was the smoke clawing at his skull. Angel moved as though he was swimming in molasses, crawling towards the edge of the bed, as Val circled the room impatiently.

“Where’s the pig, Angel?”

“Sold it for drug money,” Angel spat. 

"You'll wish you had when I'm through with it," Val promised him. "Where's that piece of shit animal?"

Angel didn't say anything else, he was too scared to. He watched as Val yanked open the bathroom door, looking for Nuggs there as well, and tried to shove himself to the floor without making any noise.

The door slamming rattled not only the hinges but the flimsy window, the wall supporting it.

"Oh, you think you're clever, baby? You think you can hide from Daddy?"

Angel managed to get his hands under him but didn't make it even a foot to the door before Val gripped the back of his neck and tugged him back. In a panic, Angel spat at him.

The ringing silence that followed bellowed like bells in Angel's ears.

He was going to die. He was going to die  _ again _ and no one would ever find him.

Nuggs would be safe with Alastor, tied to the door handle and snoozing on the doormat of his apartment in his little bed, with a note tied to the collar telling Alastor he'd see him soon.

Now he wouldn't.

Another promise broken.

"Oh," Val hummed, bringing a hand up to wipe his face. "Oh-ho-ho baby  _ boy. _ You are in so much trouble."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, _Angel thought vaguely, letting his eyes close again as Vox cursed and Val told him to **shut the fuck up and fix it.**_
> 
> Al’s found Nuggs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** This chapter contains several days of prolonged torture and rape. We don't go into explicit detail about either thing, but the chapter contains fragments of Angel's thoughts on the matter throughout, making it clear what has occurred. If you would prefer to skip to the aftermath, [please follow the link]. If you have questions about anything you may have missed, please feel free to ask us.

Everything hurt. 

Everything hurt, and, as Val whispered in his ear, they were  _ just getting started. _

They’d relocated. Angel didn’t know exactly what Val had given him to keep him manageable, but it made the room spin and the lights burst into a rainbow of pain. 

Val’s townhouse was beautiful, tastefully furnished, excessively large for how cramped real estate had to be to fit into Pentagram City. It had three stories, and a huge master bedroom that Angel had been in more than a handful of times, especially when Val was in a good mood.

But it was the basement he’d seen the most, and the basement he was carried to now, tossed over Val’s shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

The basement was a dungeon, there was no other word for it. The classic Hell™ brick and mortar, chains hanging from the walls. As the centuries had passed, Val had outfitted it more and more to better suit his needs. Now it was half Spanish Inquisition, half Fetish Night At The Club. Angel had been strapped down to most of the equipment at least once, and he fought as much as the drug would allow as Val chained him to the ceiling by his upper arms, the other two pairs bound firmly behind his back.

That had been… god, Angel didn’t know when that had been. He thought one of his shoulders may have dislocated. He was cold. And he was bleeding.

One mercy was that sinner or not, his body and mind couldn’t hold out consciousness the entire time Val was torturing him. It came in flashes, like the pop of bulbs in an old camera. On and off. Once in a while.

Angel had no idea how much time had passed, only that it had, because every time he came back up again, something else hurt worse that before, and there was sometimes more blood, or something else...

He heard music, vaguely, something that sounded like the things he listened to at Al’s, but he wasn’t sure. He was in so much pain, so far gone on whatever the red smoke always did to him, that he was imagining it, surely.

_~~Flash~~. _

Vox was there, hissing and crackling in a way that sounded nothing like Alastor’s hums and pings. It sounded  _ wrong. _ Angel squirmed, the chains above his head clattering with the motion, and both Vox and Val turned to him. He closed his eyes.

_~~Flash~~. _

He wasn’t hanging up anymore, but he wasn’t sure where he was. All he knew was that someone was fucking into him, hard enough for that pain to override the rest that scattered over his body, and that he himself was crying. Helpless, loud sobs, childish almost. A hand caught in his hair and yanked, up enough that Angel could see a reflection of himself in a filthy mirror.

_~~Flash~~. _

“Fuck’s  _ sake,” _

Angel could hear voices, but couldn’t comprehend them. At least the floor was cold. Stone and slimy, but cold.

“What crawled up his ass and died?” Vox hissed, working to untangle something in the bowels of a fuse box. “Took out all of Pentagram City. Nothing  _ works _ but the fucking  _ radio.” _

_ Oh, _ Angel thought vaguely, letting his eyes close again as Vox cursed and Val told him to  _ shut the fuck up and fix it. _

_ Al’s found Nuggs. _

_~~Flash~~. _

More music, a little louder this time. Angel could have sworn it was  _ The Object of My Affection _ by the Boswell Sisters. He sobbed and tried to curl in on himself. All his arms were tied tight behind his back, all laced into some leather horror that kept them not only secured but painfully straight. He tried to tuck his knees up instead, and listened to the music.

It had never occurred to him that the occasional broadcasts all over Pentagram City were Alastor’s doing, but now it made so much sense.

No wonder the music was always good.

“Look, the baby’s awake,” Vox muttered, and in an instant, Val’s hand was in Angel’s hair and he was right in his face.

“Nice nap, sweetheart?” he asked, smile pulling sharp and wide.

“Fuck you _ , _ ” Angel croaked, and the static began again, that horrible hissing sound.

~~_ Flash. _ ~~

“No more, god, please, no more.”

~~_ Flash. _ ~~

The song on the radio filtered in, past the crackle of electricity against his skin, past his own sobs.

“Where’d you get the money, baby?” Val cooed. 

They’d danced to this, Alastor’s hand on his hip, just lightly. Angel had danced with two hands behind his back, until Alastor assured him that in this instance, it would be alright to touch just a little.

“Don’t you want it to stop?” Hands in his hair, roughly scratching at his scalp, neither as soft nor as pleasing as Alastor’s cautious fingers.

“J-john,” Angel moaned. He couldn’t feel his fingers. His arms didn’t even hurt anymore, they just… weren’t there. Numb, completely. How long had he been down there?

_~~Flash~~. _

_ “Sweetling,”  _ the radio cooed,  _ “be a dear and come when you’re called? No one likes a naughty pet.” _

“Will you shut him up?” Val hissed. “Who the fuck is he chasing? It’s been  _ days _ . He hasn’t broadcasted like this since ‘92.”

Alastor was looking for him. He was  _ looking _ . He hadn’t given up. 

Angel could not feel half of his body. What he  _ could _ feel hurt beyond measure. He thought maybe Val had broken something, or cut it off to see if it would grow back. Maybe. Or maybe it just hurt so badly that Angel thought he had.

But Alastor was still looking.

~~_ Flash. _ ~~

“Maybe he really did get it from a john,” Vox mused. Angel blinked blearily up at him, his breath rattling in his chest. He was on the floor. He was unbound. He still couldn’t feel his fingers. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think.

“Oh, I figured that out  _ days _ ago,” Val said with a laugh. “Probably Stolas, you know how he can be with his fixations. He’s switched to something new, though. Won’t have to worry about my baby hiding things from me anymore, will I?”

He nudged Angel with his foot. Angel murmured something even he couldn’t parse.

“Doesn’t matter. A lesson needed to be learned.”

“You won’t be able to use him for weeks now,” Vox pointed out, crouching next to Angel. “Bit of a waste.”

“You and I’ve been due for a holiday anyway, baby,” Val countered, fluffing his coat up. “Now I won’t get distracted hmm? Drag him upstairs, would you? I think I pulled something with that last one.”

“Asshole,” Vox muttered, but he was grinning when he looked up. Angel didn’t remember much after that.

~~_ Flash. _ ~~

Angel’s room looked worse than it ever had. Everything was broken; the bedframe, the chair, some of his toys, the bathroom door… most had been broken by Angel’s body colliding with them. He lay amidst the wreckage and tried to breathe, breathing was pretty hard the last few… whatever. Years? Years probably. But it was over now. Now he could lay there, his stupid body refusing to die, his stupid mind unspeakably charmed by the fact that Alastor was looking for him, that he was playing him music, that he was asking for him to come back.

God, he wanted to come back.

He wanted nothing more than to come back…

He felt heat beneath him, as though the floor was warming up on its own, and for once he didn’t care. He didn’t care if it was his blood, if it was his urine, if it was his entire essence just flowing out of him, he didn’t care.

But when shadows, coiled and familiar, reached out to gently slip through his fingers, Angel smiled.

That was nice.

* * *

*

Without Vox to fry his brain and Val to drug him, without more pain to force him into a dissociative state, Angel came back to the world in a slow, aching wave.

He remembered, first, that the lights were surging, and that there seemed to be less of them than there should have been. He remembered that there were meant to be more lightbulbs even before he realized where he was, so attuned was he to the environmental factors that let him read Alastor’s moods.

Alastor was the second thing he became aware of, though not the man himself. His scent, an old cologne that reminded Angel of early mornings, his dad reading the paper at the breakfast table. It permeated the room, the soft bedding that Angel was wrapped up in, once white but now spotted almost pink in places. As if someone had been bleeding on it.

Oh.  _ He _ ’ _ d _ been bleeding on it. 

He couldn’t move yet, not quite, but out of the corner of his eye he could see bandages, soaked through in tiny droplets.

He’d really done it this time. Angel tried to stretch, count his limbs, and instead sent white hot lightning through every nerve ending. 

“Oh  _ fuck- _ -” even his throat was agony. His voice came out in a raspy whisper, hoarse from screaming. 

“Hush, my dear boy, I need you to be  _ still.” _

Alastor’s voice sounded very far away, crackling and popping, interrupted by haze and static as he spoke, but Angel heard him. He heard him and that final proof, that gentle confirmation, was enough to get Angel to start crying. Softly, quietly, but achingly. 

He closed his eyes and just let it happen.

He was  _ safe. _ Somehow,  _ somehow, _ he wasn’t in that trashed hallway closet. Somehow he was in his bed, with his partner tending to him, and he was  _ safe. _

It was around that moment of clarity that Angel lost consciousness again.

When he came to next time, he was a little more aware of his body. Everything  _ fucking _ hurt. He blinked, eyes trying to get the sheets into focus again, his own dried blood less brown as human blood would be, but just as distasteful against the white.

He swallowed, tried to lift his head.

He could do that, at least. Enough to see over the crumpled folds of fabric to the other side of the bed where Nuggs dozed on his back, legs akimbo as his belly rose and fell.  _ Fuck _ even Nuggs was safe. Angel wanted to cry again, but he wasn’t sure there was anything left in him to cry with.

He sniffed instead, allowing himself to relax into the bed again.

He felt the prickle of electricity, the sharp ozone smell, before he heard Alastor down the hall, humming something soft, something familiar and intimate as he walked. Angel lifted his head again as Al stepped into the room and held out a hand pleadingly to him.

Al moved as though through static himself, one moment he was by the door, and the next he had Angel’s hand clasped in both his own and was knelt on the bed next to him.

“You’ve woken up,” he murmured, and his voice was  _ here _ again, not humming through a tuner, quiet and low and  _ wonderful. _ “My darling, forgive me the chemical aid, I needed you to rest as I patched you up. I couldn’t live with myself if I scarred you in a way you didn’t ask for.”

Alastor had never made Angel feel anything less than cared for, but he was generally collected, cool. His declarations sounded more planned than impulsive, carefully sculpted phrases.

Jesus  _ Christ _ , what sort of shape was Angel in if Alastor was touching him, speaking so achingly raw, and visibly worried  _ all at once? _

“Drugs?” Angel mumbled, the one part of the sentence he’d managed to get out.

“A little of this, a little of that,” Alastor demurred, “Nothing I would advise for a ball, but there’s plenty more if you need it.”

Angel needed it. Whatever it was, Angel needed the whole damn vial. “How long?”

Alastor’s shadow wavered, back and forth, agitated. “Since I found you? Two days.”

Long enough that Val probably wasn’t looking yet. Angel was fairly certain he’d been locked in to starve, and to heal agonizingly slowly. Val had never left him alone for long before, but he’d never been quite this mad. They might have a whole week before he even thought to check on Angel.

“How…” Angel struggled with the words. His jaw, his throat, even his  _ teeth _ seemed to ache. He traced them with his tongue; at the very least, they were all still there. “How long s’I gone?”

The shadow stretched, up onto the ceiling and wider still than that, until the room felt so dark… like space. Angel groaned softly.

“Al… s’okay, m’sorry,”

“I couldn’t find you,” he murmured, the shadow eased a little, down to a size that just hovered over Alastor’s shoulder, blinking slowly. “For four days, I looked everywhere. I couldn’t hear you. Not until…”

He brought a hand up to slip through Angel’s hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

“Once in a while, it appeared, they would open a door, and you’d come through.”

Angel groaned again, question clear. Alastor touched his hair again.

“Anything electrical, anything I can follow, I can use. Once in a while I’d hear you… hurting. After that, I didn’t listen out, I projected. I hoped that wherever you were, you would hear.”

Angel blinked, eyes closing again, eyelids heavy. Alastor sighed and reached for something. He cupped Angel’s cheek and lifted his head, holding a bottle to his lips.

“Drink this, sweetling. It doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

Angel slept.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do not.” Alastor said, sharp and quiet. “I have already experienced this dimension without your presence, without knowing where you are. You cannot leverage guilt against me. I have never been one for shame."_

It took three or four more tries before Angel finally woke long enough for more than a few hushed words and another dose of medication. Alastor was always there, ready to change his bandages or drug him back into oblivion. 

But finally the moment came where Angel woke up in pain, rather than in crippling agony. He hurt everywhere, but he no longer felt as though he was missing limbs or actively on fire. 

“Hey,” he croaked to the figure standing in the corner, red eyes aglow. “Bed’s big enough for two.”

The red-eyed shadow shifted forward and became Alastor, missing his cane, his hair spiked less neatly than usual, his bow tie missing entirely. For Al, it was practically slovenly. 

“You need to heal properly,” Alastor said, voice distant, as if trying to convince himself as well as Angel. “I would hate to disrupt your sleep with too much motion.”

“You sleep like a corpse,” Angel told him, a smile tugging at his lips, unfamiliar and slightly crooked, rusty from disuse. “And that’s when you sleep. Come to bed with me?”

A hum, gentle, and Alastor moved to obey, climbing into bed and resting on his side, so he could look at Angel properly. Angel yawned, letting his eyes close again.

“Touch my hair?” he asked next, a bit of wheedling creeping into his tone. Alastor’s sigh was his only answer, before he reached out and let his fingers slip through the familiar white strands. Angel let out a deep sigh and seemed to deflate deeper into the bed. “God that’s good,” he mumbled.

For several long moments, they said nothing more. Alastor stroked Angel’s hair, carding his fingers through it, massaging his scalp, tugging gently at the tangles that Angel’s prolonged sleep had inevitably invited.

“What happened?” Angel asked, his voice a little thin, a little nervous. “Ya said you could hear me sometimes?”

The room filled with the quiet buzz of electricity, but no bulbs fizzled or blew. Anxious, Angel realized, he’s  _ anxious. _ What the fuck?

“Yes.”

“How close were you to be able to--”

“I was here,” Alastor replied quietly. His thumb drew over Angel’s eyebrow, circled down around his eye to his cheek. “I feared that should I physically intervene, it would be worse for you.”

“You blew the electricity out at one point. I figured you’d found Nuggs on the doorstep.” Angel admitted. “Vox got all uptight ‘bout it.”

At this, one of the bulbs in the bedside lamps heated to an alarming degree. Angel reached out, just spreading his fingers on the blankets, not touching Alastor, but the implication clear.  _ It’s okay. It’s fine now. _

“Pathetic caricature of entertainment,” Alastor muttered. Angel snorted and looked up at him.

“What?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you  _ salty?” _

“Angel.”

“Okay, okay,” Angel stretched with a soft groan and lay back down again, blinking up at him. “Imma twist your arm another time.” He lay quiet for a while longer, before turning his face a little more into Alastor’s touches, nuzzling his gloved palm. 

“I heard the music after that,” he sighed. “You were playing our waltzes.”

Alastor crackled and popped with distress --  _ distress _ , of all things. It sounded odd on him. Looked even odder, with his face placid and still.

“I had hoped you would hear,” Alastor admitted. “That you would be… That perhaps some measure of comfort…”

It was clear that Alastor was attempting to keep up his usual persona, slightly stiff and disjointed, each sentence carefully planned and crafted. It was equally clear that he was failing, exhaustion a dark shroud over his features.

“I have failed you,” he finally said, his voice so quiet that Angel nearly lost it to the radio-hum that thickened it. 

“Al…”

Alastor reached for him.  _ Alastor _ reached for  _ him, _ and the gesture was so unfamiliar and alarming that Angel quieted immediately, allowing Alastor to tangle their fingers together.

“It would not have been impossible for me to pull you free of them,” Alastor confessed, a hiss of agony in the darkness. “Difficult, but not impossible. I have never feared either Vox nor his waste of a paramour. But with the two of them together, and with no idea of your state…”

Snap, crackle, a droning hum building louder, ringing in Angel’s teeth as Alastor spoke. 

“Radio has no eyes,” he said. “It is not something I have ever considered a loss. I have little patience for picture shows, even less for  _ digital _ entertainment. But if you were bound to something, or worse, entangled in them, and I reached through for you, the damage I could have done… I have never feared any creature of Hell, but they held you between them, and I could not disentangle you blindly. I had no idea where you were. I could hear you, but not see you. I could not attempt to breach Valentino’s wards and enter the room when he had plenty of time to do you harm when he felt me coming. I could only wait, and watch the apartment, where you would be less guarded.”

“You were stuck.”

“You do not understand,” Alastor said, eyes dark and red, angry. “I could have come for you. It would have been difficult, but not impossible. I could have fought for you. I  _ chose _ not to, because--”

Alastor’s mouth snapped shut with a click. 

_ Because he was afraid _ .

_ Because he was afraid  _ **_for_ ** _ Angel. _

There were certain things one didn’t say, in Hell. Words that could never be spoken aloud, or risk damning yourself further. But Angel knew Alastor, every twitch of his smile, every static click of his aura. 

And Alastor had been afraid.

Angel swallowed, and drew their joined hands closer to himself, close enough that he could kiss Alastor’s knuckles with a sigh, that he could turn his cheek against them in a nuzzle.

You didn’t say a thing about forgiveness down here either. But Angel tried to show it instead.

It may have been minutes, but it felt like hours, and not once in that time did Alastor let go of Angel’s hand. Angel kissed each knuckle, unfolded their fingers to press palm to palm instead, his own fingers stretching longer than Al’s, before slotting them together again. Over and over, meditative touches, things that months ago, even weeks ago, would have been considered too intimate, too involved, yet Alastor seemed soothed by them now, rather than irritated.

“You called me a naughty pet,” Angel mumbled after what felt like forever, grinning against Alastor’s hand. “And sweetling.”

Al’s laugh was just a breath pushed out between parted lips. “I’m afraid I’ve no control over the fact that you happen to be both.”

“I like being both,” Angel assured him, shifting about to lay on his side, rather than his stomach, facing Al properly.

“Do you think you can move?”

“You got plans for me?”

Alastor laughed a little more audibly this time. “A long soak in a soothing bath,” he said, “and a hot meal in your stomach, nothing more.”

“No fun,” Angel teased, with such immense gratitude he wasn’t sure his skinny body could contain it all.

Alastor ended up carrying Angel to the bath, despite Angel’s uncertain attempts at standing on his own, and Angel was too enraptured by the ways their bodies pressed together to protest. Alastor bathing  _ with _ him was obviously far too much to even ask for, but he settled onto a stool beside the tub and carefully coaxed Angel into wetting his hair. 

“You been holding out on me,” Angel moaned, as careful fingers massaged shampoo through his white locks. 

“Wouldn’t want you spoiled,” Alastor murmured in return. Angel thought of the thousands of dollars that Val had no doubt kept, and choked on a laugh.

“Yeah, Satan forbid,” he said, ducking low to let Alastor rinse the suds from his hair. 

They ate in bed, neither of them offering any care for the once-white sheets -- “Niffty will clean them,” Alastor said when Angel attempted to suggest the kitchen. Alastor seemed more interested in watching Angel eat than eating himself, and Angel was more than happy to indulge. It had to have been over a week since he’d eaten anything. 

Nuggs, according to Alastor, had been more than happy with whatever he was offered to eat, and was, in fact, a very well house trained animal. Angel beamed in pride, his little hellpig snorting softly at his side as his belly was scratched.

By the time his own belly was full and he’d curled up in bed again, the sun was coming up, and Angel groaned.

“Should get back,” he mumbled.

“No.”

Angel blinked, pushing himself to sit up a little. “What?”

“You’re not going back there,” Alastor told him, his shadow crawling up the wall and to the ceiling, hanging there and watching silently. Angel raised his eyebrow at it before meeting its master’s eyes instead.

“And where do ya propose I go, huh?”

“You will stay here.”

“Nah, nope. Not an option.” Angel shook his head, as though that would help cement the words. “You think what they did to me was bad? What’ll they do to  _ you _ when they find out that--”

“That, what?” Alastor asked. One of the lights in the bathroom was buzzing, ominously close to blowing itself up. How Al managed to keep his damn house lit with his temper was beyond Angel, the bills for the bulbs alone must’ve run up to the thousands.

“That I’ve been  _ enjoying  _ your company? As a  _ paying  _ customer? That I’ve been  _ indulging  _ in my  _ vices  _ while extolling your virtues? Dear heart, I’m not only living by the rules of Hell I’m toeing the line like a Boy Scout.”

“Val and Vox don’t care about rules,” Angel said. “I got every penny of my money the way he  _ tells _ me to get my money, and he took it and left me with nothing but a reminder that I’m not for sale, just for rent.”

“There is nothing that creature owns that cannot be pried from him with enough incentive,” Alastor said. “He holds nothing dear. I’ll purchase you myself, if I must.”

Angel flinched. He knew, of course, he  _ had _ to know after all this, that Val had no affection for him. But there were a paltry few creatures that cared about him, and nearly all of them were in this bedroom, and that was sometimes a painful thought. 

As was the idea that he might be so easily sold off, without his own input. There was, technically, nothing he could do to stop Al if he chose to try and buy him. 

“He will kill you,” Angel said slowly. “Do you understand that? I remember maybe five minutes of the last week, and I’m not trying to remember any more, but in half of it he’s complaining about you. He would happily kill you and take over your territory. Or use me as leverage, if he thought you felt anything for me at all.”

That was it, enough to burst all the lights in the bathroom and bedroom, and by the sound of distant shattering, the rest of the apartment as well.

“Anything,” Alastor hissed the word, and Angel flinched again. He wasn’t frightened of him, but the thought that he’d  _ hurt him-- _

“Al, I didn’t mean it like--”

_ “Anything,” _ Alastor repeated, firing up a ball of flame in his hand so they could see each other, “is what I would do to keep you safe, Angel.  _ Anything _ is a paltry descriptor of what I feel for you.”

Angel’s throat felt tight, he felt tears coming on and he’d fucking cried enough already, he didn’t need that nonsense again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Alastor sighed.

“Sweetling, you’ve nothing to apologize for.  _ You _ are unfortunately in a rather literal hell, tangled up in circumstances you’ve no control over anymore. Trust builds slowly, I understand your hesitation. But you must also understand my persistence. He will hurt you again.”

“He’s hurt me plenty,” Angel shrugged, looking away. “Can’t very well die again, can I?”

“No,” Alastor agreed. “You suffer, instead.”

They were quiet for a time, before Alastor sighed and stood up from the bed, lighting a few candles that often stood unused on the dresser, the mirror reflecting the light back into the room. Angel didn’t look at his reflection.

“I needa go back,” he said quietly, “so he thinks he’s broken me down. If he shows up to check on me and I ain’t there, he’ll turn Hell inside out lookin’ for me. If he thinks I’ve mellowed out,  _ remembered my place, _ then maybe he’ll turn a blind eye again.”

There was a sound, so quiet and so high that it vibrated in Angel’s teeth. He wasn’t entirely sure Alastor knew he was making it, but his entire body was a stiff line, fists clenched, nails digging into his pocket. Angel wanted to comfort him, but touch would probably shatter him at this point, and even if it didn’t, once Angel started he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to leave.

“He  _ will _ hurt you again,” Alastor said. “I cannot promise not to intervene. I have given you everything I have to offer, Angel. This, you cannot ask of me.”

“Can I ask you to  _ try _ ?” Angel folded his arms over his chest, holding himself together. Shielding himself. “D’you remember what I said? What it would do to me if--”

“Do not.” Alastor said, sharp and quiet. “I have already experienced this dimension without your presence, without knowing where you are. You cannot leverage guilt against me. I have never been one for shame. I held off because it would have made you unhappy, but I would rather see you unhappy than tortured at Valentino’s hands.”

“This is my  _ life _ ,” Angel said, embarrassed to find himself yelling. “If you’re so worried about torture, maybe think about what he’s gonna do to me when he finds out I spent the week  _ lying _ to him to protect  _ you _ .”

The silence was ringing, or maybe it was that noise Alastor didn’t know he was making again, but Angel suddenly felt like he would crawl out of his skin if he stayed here any longer. He wasn’t angry, he was  _ terrified. _ Terrified that he would say something to Alastor to actually break what they had, shatter it into a million pieces with his stupid big mouth.

He needed to go before he said something he regretted, like that he loved him.

“I need ya to watch Nuggs for me okay?” he said, moving past Alastor to get to the drawer that held some of the clothes Al had given him. He needed something to walk home in, the last thing he wanted was to get solicited while marching back in the nude. “I kinda told Val I sold him for drug money.”

“Angel.”

“Stupid, right? First thing that came ta mind though,”

_ “Angel.” _

Angel straightened up, swallowed. That  _ tone _ just always did him in, he couldn’t not obey it. So he stayed still, listened to Alastor step closer to him, sighed when hands set to his shoulders gently.

_ “Please _ stay here with me.”

Angel swallowed again, hands trembling as he found a shirt that was fancy as hell but not as fancy as the other things in there. All he wanted was to wrap himself up in Al’s jacket, the jacket he kept here, because he would never,  _ ever _ hear the end of it otherwise, and curl up in bed with him again. 

Why couldn’t he convince his stupid brain to let him do that?

“I can’t, okay?” his voice was weak though, it held no authority whatsoever. “I needa be seen around the studio, seen walking in, walking out, going to shoots… I needa make out like everything normal, like I learned my lesson.”

Fingers tensed a little against him, but Alastor didn’t yank him back or turn him around. Nor did he let go. Angel sighed, wishing Al just left marks wherever he touched, so Angel never had to forget the feeling.

“Alright,” Alastor said carefully after a moment. “A play at normalcy for the sake of security.”

There was something off in the tone of his voice, something sour and unpleasant, but Angel couldn’t bear to pry at it. He already felt like an open wound, more so than he had when he woke up. If he stayed a minute more, trying to soothe over Alastor’s rough edges, then all of his resolve was going to crumble.

“Glad you see it my way,” Angel chirped, eyes watering. “I’ll. I’ll call you.”

“Tonight,” Alastor told him, and though he was using that tone that worked so well on Angel, he had to push back. 

“Tomorrow,” Angel said, wincing as he shimmied into jeans that held him too closely over his bruises. “I can’t call you from inside the apartment. I’ll go for a walk.”

“The walls have ears,” Alastor said softly. 

“You got it.” Angel shrugged, a half-hearted attempt at dismissing his fear. He turned, nearly losing his strength all over again at the way Alastor was watching him. “Just…” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Is it alright if I kiss you goodbye?”

Alastor’s answer was to step closer and set his fingers beneath Angel’s chin before he leaned in himself. The kiss was gentle, loving, open-mouthed and quickly breathless, and Angel whined unhappily as he tore himself away.

“Thanks for the uh,” he cleared his throat, shook his head. “Thank you.”

“Please try to be safe,” Alastor replied, though the tilt of his head suggested amusement. That was something. God, it was something. At least Angel wasn’t leaving him when they were both angry, or scared, or…

Getting home didn’t prove to be a problem. Nothing on these streets had scared Angel before Val, and nothing scared him after. He ignored the snide remarks, the catcalls, the whistles. He was off the clock and heading home, that was all.

The studio loomed over him, the door a gaping maw that swallowed him up into the sights and smells and sounds of his endless torments. Val would have him filming again, he was certain, as soon as he saw Angel could move and spread his legs. The rest didn’t matter, the rest never mattered.

Angel climbed the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door.

God it was a mess in there. Had he really broken so many things with his body? With a sigh, he set about putting as much back in order as he could manage. He deliberately tossed the broken stuff out into the corridor so Val got the idea that he needed a  _ new goddamn bed _ at least, and then shut the door and locked it.

He’d kept the mattress, lumpy as it was, and laid it on the floor before crawling onto it himself.

Compared to Al’s bed, this felt like sleeping on a bag of potatoes. Compared to Al’s bed, this felt like the cheap trash it was. Compared to Al’s bed…

Angel must have dozed off at some point, uncomfortable though he was, because he remembered stretching out and curling back up again, much more comfortable when he settled. It took him a moment, but he opened his eyes again.

Four poster, with the curtains half drawn, new sheets, silky smooth and soft, a heavy duvet, enormous pillows, and Alastor, in repose next to him. Angel swallowed. That sonofabitch.

“What did I tell you?” Angel whispered. Alastor’s eyes were closed, but Angel knew he wasn’t asleep. He had never yet caught Alastor when he was  _ truly _ unconscious, though he was certain he had slept alongside him before. “Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.”

Alastor blinked slowly at him, lazily, projecting an air of innocence. “It’s very late,” he said. 

“Yeah, I know it’s late,” Angel growled. “I’m supposed to be resting. At home. In my apartment. That you  _ stole _ me from.”

“ _ Stole _ is such a harsh word. I prefer  _ liberated _ .”

“Weren’t you listening to a word I said?” Angel asked, pushing up from the bed. Something wrapped around him, too dark to make out, though he could guess, and pushed him gently back into place among the pillows. “Alastor!”

“I listened,” Alastor said. “You said you needed to be seen coming and going from your apartment. You said you couldn’t make phone calls from within because you might be overheard. You said  _ nothing  _ about being watched once you were already inside.”

“I--” Angel’s argument died before he’d even breathed life into it, because Alastor wasn’t wrong. It was so rare for Val to check on Angel when he was ‘safely’ where he needed to be, not since the very early years of their deal. And this… this was  _ genius. _

“You sonofabitch,” Angel whispered, grinning. He tucked his face against the pillow and breathed in before sighing out and stretching out a little more. Alastor looked immensely pleased with himself. “You gonna lie closer at least?”

“Perhaps,” Alastor shrugged. “Or you could move on your own, as you wish.”

“You mean--”

“Not,” Al gently stopped him.  _ “On _ me, but proximity is pleasant.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Angel smiled, shifting a little, knowing that despite Alastor’s aloof claims he  _ truly _ didn’t like being touched unless he initiated contact, and rolled over so his back was pressing to Al’s side. He was warm, he was always warmer than Angel when they touched, it was uncanny. The line of contact felt like a brand and Angel never wanted to move again.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to try to get some sleep. Before he was fully gone, he felt Alastor’s arm drape heavy over his waist and tuck him a little closer.

Waking up on the lumpy mattress in his own place a few hours later didn’t seem so bad after that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“On a scale of one to ten, how comfortable would you be with me touching you right now?”_
> 
> _Alastor stared him down for a long moment. “You need comfort.”_
> 
> _“Pretty much always, but I don’t want it at your expense. Give me your actual thoughts.”_
> 
> _“...three,” Alastor decided._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Valentino in a milder, but still unpleasant flavor

There was a certain pattern to how these things went, but this time had been so exceptionally awful that Angel wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Val came to check on him the second day he was back in his own apartment. He seemed surprised to find Angel as well healed as he was, if the narrow-eyed stare he gave him was any indication.

But he was smiling, and without his very sharp teeth on display. It seemed the pattern was going to play out, regardless of how angry he’d been. 

“Babydoll,” Val cooed, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Mista Valentino,” Angel said softly, his very best manners in place. He stood awkwardly by his mattress, nowhere left to sit now that the bed was gone.

Val tsked disapprovingly, and Angel flipped at the sound. “Fine, he says. We can do better than that, can’t we, sweetheart?”

Angel held his tongue. Val did better if he didn’t feel like Angel  _ expected _ his mercy, if Angel made no show of  _ deserving _ it.

“You know I hate having to discipline you, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Angel breathed, one hand coming up to grip tightly against another. He kept his eyes low, his lip between his teeth. The truth of the words wasn’t there, but he sure didn’t have to fake his meekness. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Val at that moment, so every flinch and flutter came across as grovelling.

Perfect.

“And you’ll be Daddy’s good boy from now on, won’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Angel murmured, holding his breath as a curl of smoke caught his chin and lifted it up. It felt nothing like when Alastor did it. “I’ll be real good.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Val grinned. “Now, you have a busy day ahead of you, angelcakes, but I think you deserve a little something, a pick-me-up, to get you started, hmm?”

Angel offered his best, widest grin. It was going to be either drugs or a fucking, there was no other answer here. Nothing else that Val offered, nothing else that came even close to--

“Breakfast,” Val said, stepping nearer and running a hand through Angel’s hair. “Something filling for a hungry boy. What do you say to that?”

Angel blinked, jaw slack and cheeks pale. Breakfast? Out? With  _ Val? _

“Good boys get treats,” Val coaxed, “And you’re looking a little thin, baby.”

_ Whose fault is that? _

Val was always particular about Angel’s weight. Gain even a single pound, and Angel was getting lazy, but if he was too thin he looked ‘frightful _. _ ’ Nevermind that Angel only ever got that thin when Val was starving him. 

“Like a date?” Angel found himself asking. It wasn’t as though Val  _ never _ took him out, but it had been far more frequent when he was trying to coax Angel to his side, back in the beginning. Lately, they almost never went out.

“Been a long time since I spoiled my best boy,” Val said, with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “Go get yourself made up, honey, Daddy’s getting hungry.”

Angel’s beat up old stereo was on the floor of his tiny bathroom, next to a tall case of cosmetics. Angel sealed himself in, away from Val’s prying eyes for just a moment, and sucked in a long, slow breath. He just had to play it safe, just get through this, then get through the shoots today, and he could see Al.

As if on cue, the stereo crackled to life, and the soft strains of a half-forgotten lullaby began to filter through.

Alastor was listening for him.

Angel laughed, shaking his head, but didn’t risk saying anything in case Val was listening at the door. He started putting on his makeup instead, humming along to the sound.

Breakfast ended up being… literally just breakfast. Angel had started to prepare himself for an onslaught, for another  _ but you make me so hungry _ excuse that Val so often pulled when he had promised Angel food and drugs and didn’t deliver.

They ate in relative silence, Val asking a question once in a while but never actually listening to Angel’s answer. Not that it mattered, he was literally phoning it in. Angel knew that as soon as breakfast was over, he was either going over the table himself or they were going to immediately return to the studio where Val would drop Angel off at a sound stage.

But... that didn’t happen either.

Instead, Val took Angel shopping. He took him to the shops Alastor wouldn’t go near, the slutty and the sparkly, the bright and the bold. Things that Angel, deep down, still absolutely loved to wear, but that were more often than not outside of his budget.

“You know, baby, I really appreciated you chipping in for your own care,” Val said as they strolled the aisles. Whenever trips like this happened, Angel never got to choose what they bought, Val did. “It helped make a dent in your debts, so I thought I’d spoil you. Get you something  _ pretty.” _

_ Pretty _ was a red leather harness that framed Angel’s chest, puffing him up like DD cups.  _ Pretty _ was a rhinestone studded sheer shroud for around his shoulders.  _ Pretty _ was the world’s tiniest scarlet panties.  _ Pretty _ was a cheap butt plug with a heart shaped base that glinted in the light.

_ Pretty  _ was a panic attack, shortness of breath on the car ride home, Val’s hand shoved up under his shirt, feeling the edges of his new things hidden away beneath more conservative fabric. 

“I hate hurting you, baby,” Val breathed against his jaw. “I hate it so much, it makes me so sad to see you cry. Don’t let it happen again, alright?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

There was a new bed waiting when Val nudged Angel into his tiny apartment, still a narrow little thing, but with a new mattress, sheets already in place. Ready to be  _ christened _ , as the phrasing went. 

“V-Val,” Angel said, as he was backed onto the bed, “I think I gotta shoot tonight.”

“Not for another hour,” Val assured him, prying him free of his clothes. “We’ve got time for a treat.”

From the bathroom, the waltz that had greeted them came to an end, and something new began to play. Loud enough for Angel to hear it, over the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears. Drowning out harsh pants of breath as Val tugged his panties to the side and slid in. Drowning out the room, the world, filling Angel’s ears with words that eased the ache in his chest.

_ But don’t forget who’s taking you home, and in whose arms you’re gonna be. _

_ So, Darling, save the last dance for me. _

Alastor was here, was listening, and any shame Angel might have felt was washed away by the music. Al wasn’t mad. He wasn’t hurt.

He was waiting, so that he could bring Angel home. Because at the end of the night, when work was over and Angel could lock the door behind him, Alastor was going to take him  _ home _ .

He endured the fucking, whimpered on cue, begged just like he knew Val liked, and collapsed onto the bed after, sweaty and filthy, and clinging to the sheets just a little too hard. He kissed Val back, when he kissed him, hands rough on Angel’s skin as he did. He smiled wide when Val told him he was a good boy, that Daddy was proud of him, and groaned only when the door closed behind him and only the red coiling smoke remained for a few moments more.

Angel didn’t remember the shoot. He didn’t remember Val talking to him after. He didn’t remember dinner, that he ate alone in his room. All he remembered was closing his eyes with a sigh, and opening them to Alastor, and feeling his heart swell to ten times its normal size in his chest.

* * *

So the night had gone  _ beyond _ badly. But also, strangely, well.

Angel had wanted to use the deal to show Val that he could be good in more ways than just crying real pretty. He’d been fairly high up back in the upworld, he knew how to handle a goddamn money exchange. But no, no, he’d fucked that right up. Val’s eyes would be all over him thanks to this, and he had to lay low for a few days before he could try asking for anything at all that wasn’t extra hours and another gangbang to make up for the one he missed.

When a limo had pulled up, Angel figured that was his meal ticket for the night; because hell if he was calling Al for money, hell if he was going anywhere near Beezle Ave. And he charged more for ladies anyway so, no problem.

Now, he stood smoking another cigarette, a pile of cash in his pocket, and an idea brewing in his mind.

_ Redemption. _

What a concept.

But this hotel shtick might just be what Angel needed to get out from under Val’s thumb. This was the Satan-blessed  _ princess of Hell, _ Lucifer’s one and only precious little fallen angel. Surely Val wouldn’t go up against fucking  _ Lucifer? _ He wasn’t that reckless. Val was impulsive and his temper was… but he wasn’t reckless. 

When he climbed into bed a few hours later, he already knew what he wanted to do.

“I’m moving out of the studio,” Angel said, as soon as he was in Alastor’s bedroom again. “But I’m not… moving here.”

He’d kind of expected the light bulbs to blow again, but since they weren’t on, they were spared from the static that made up Alastor’s emotional response.

“He’s relocating you?”

“No,” Angel said mildly, as if a pleasant tone was going to do anything at all to smooth this over. “No, that would cost  _ money _ , and we can’t have that. No, I had… an offer.”

“An offer,” Alastor said flatly, his eyes glowing in the dark of the bedroom. “What sort of  _ offer _ ?”

“Not a job,” Angel said, reaching out and then hesitating. “On a scale of one to ten, how comfortable would you be with me touching you right now?”

Alastor stared him down for a long moment. “You need comfort.”

“Pretty much always, but I don’t want it at your expense. Give me your  _ actual _ thoughts.”

“...three,” Alastor decided. It made sense, given the frustration he wore so plainly. But three wasn’t one. Angel could work with three.

“Can I touch your hand?”

“That would be acceptable.”

Angel linked their fingers together, then decided a ‘three’ would probably allow for a kiss to the knuckles, if he kept it brief. 

“It’s not a john,” Angel said firmly. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I already sleep with as few people as I can get away with, I’m not gonna go shacking up with them.”

“Angel,” Al’s tone was patient but it vibrated; the farther away he sounded, the more agitated Alastor usually was. Angel swallowed.

“You ever meet the Magne family?”

Alastor blinked, head tilting. “Of course,” he said after a moment. “Lucifer is a fine host, always thinks very carefully about the entertainment he invites. I’ve not been so lucky as to see Lilith often, she’s often away, but--”

“The princess of Hell wants to open a hotel that redeems sinners and gets them into heaven,” Angel said quickly, getting it all out before he lost his nerve, or Al talked him out of it without even knowing what  _ it _ was.

Alastor’s response was pretty much the same as Angel’s had been. He laughed, bright and loud, and squeezed Angel’s hand a little as he did.

“That’s madness, it would never work.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Angel replied, laughter in his tone too. “That’s not the point. The point is she’s offering me free room and board if I ‘behave myself’ and sign on as her first resident.”

There was silence for a time, during which one of Al’s shadows slunk to the ceiling and looked down at them both, darker even than the dark itself.

“Why?” he asked finally. Angel let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

“Coz I’m a big-name  _ porn _ star in  _ Hell _ maybe? I dunno, and I don’t care. Listen, in that fucking hotel  _ Val can’t touch me. _ I’d be safe.”

“You’d be safe here,” Alastor reminded him. Angel swallowed.

“There I’d be safe without  _ you _ being in the line of fire,” he clarified. “Al, please, it’s a good gig, and piss-easy, I don’t even have to  _ do _ anything.”

“She would pay for your room and board,” Alastor said slowly. “I would supply anything else you needed, as I do currently. Valentino would be unwilling to encroach in her territory. You would be free.”

The word had lingered in the back of Angel’s mind, so seemingly impossible, and yet Alastor had spoken it into existence. Free. As long as he didn’t wander too far from the hotel by himself, at least, and leave himself open for Val to grab. But trapped in the hotel was a hell of a lot better than trapped in the studio, and Alastor could probably slip just as easily into the building as he did Angel’s apartment. 

It would be like having his own life again. Angel felt hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

“I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” he said softly. “If it hurts you that I won’t come here, or that I’m gonna play goody two shoes. I won’t do it, if you hate it, but Al--”

Angel’s voice broke, cracked right in two, and Alastor was quick to hush him, cupping his cheek. 

“Dearest, why wouldn’t I want that for you?”

“I just… I don’t want ya to think I don’t wanna be here, you know? I don’t want you ta think that I’m running away or pulling the long con or--”

Alastor set both hands to Angel’s face and held him still, eyes up so he could meet them. “I want you here,” he admitted quietly. “And as often as we can safely get away with it, I will have you here. But if there is an alternative, one that allows you freedom from suffering and fear, in a place I can find you, then I would never stop you taking it.”

Angel’s tears finally slid from the corners of his eyes and he sobbed, just a tiny, helpless sound. Alastor leaned in to press their foreheads together and just held him, letting him cry. Angel didn’t realize just how much he’d wanted to cry, just how much he’d needed to, until the waterworks started, and then he couldn’t stop. 

He was crying because he didn’t want Val to touch him anymore, and  _ this could be the escape he needed. _ He was crying because he wanted to climb into Al’s lap and make himself small, but he knew it would hurt him if he did. He was crying because he was tired, more so than any physical work could ever make him. He was so tired.

When he finally managed to get a grip, he rested a hand over Alastor’s and sniffed.

“You’re makin’ me soft,” he complained. Alastor hummed, amused, and shifted just enough to be able to let Angel nuzzle against him, nose to nose. “I ain’t complainin’, but you better be ready for the cryin’ to happen again if you’re so nice ta me.”

“I’ll be sure to get a handkerchief monogrammed for you when next I’m out.”

Angel snorted, bringing a hand to his face, and made a surprised little sound when Alastor caught it with his own and kissed him instead. Hell and damn if that wasn’t so much better.

“I’m not gonna tell him right away,” he warned Alastor. “It’s… It’ll be bad. He won’t go to the hotel, not with the princess there, but if I so much as go to snag a pack of cigarettes… I’m technically reneging on a deal. He won’t like it.”

“I don’t much care what Valentino likes,” Alastor said firmly. 

“Yeah, well, I wanna be able to go to the vending machine without being abducted for as long as I can get away with it,” Angel said bitterly. “Bad enough I won’t be staying in the apartment; I can dodge that question for a bit, maybe show up for a few more shoots without Charlie breathin’ down my neck about it. But no more johns.”

“Perhaps just one,” Alastor suggested, with a playful quirk of his lips. 

“You’re not a john,” Angel said. “You’re…” words failed him. Nothing seemed to quite suit Alastor, who frequently seemed too big to be contained by his own body. Larger than unlife. “I guess you’re kinda my boyfriend?” he tried. 

Alastor considered the word for a moment, eyes unfocused as he let it settle and simmer. “I’m sure there’s a better term for it,”

Angel snorted, giving Alastor a teasing look. “I gotta whole load of ‘em.” he took a deep breath and held up one hand, ticking off the terms as he named them. “sugar lips, schnookums, stud muffin, squeeze, babycake, smoochy, honey bunny, dollface, tootsie--”

“Stop,” Al mumbled, sighing as Angel kept going, words and words and words, until Alastor leaned in and kissed him again, swallowing whatever else Angel would pull out at the drop of a hat. “Paramour,” he offered in return. “Loveling. Beau.”

“I can work with that,” Angel replied, resting his head on the pillow again, smiling when Alastor lay down opposite him, closer than he usually did. Still, Angel didn’t reach out, didn’t push that boundary. Al had told him he could touch his hand, so that’s all Angel did. He touched his hand again, and slipped their fingers together. “Wish you’d been around when I was tryina find myself up there.”

“You may not have liked me, up there,” Alastor replied honestly.

“Eh,” Angel shrugged. “Wasn’t a peach myself.”

“Hard to believe.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic right now,” Angel told him with a grin. Alastor’s smile just widened. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Found you down here, didn’t I?”

“I believe  _ I _ found  _ you _ . Quite unexpectedly, a single road block in a path that had always been clear.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t about to get pushed around by no strawberry pimp,” Angel teased. The disgruntled static he got in return was so clearly faked that he had to stifle a laugh in the pillow. 

“If I had met you up there,” Alastor said, after a few long moments of peaceful silence, “I believe I would have killed you.”

“Ouch,” Angel muttered, “way to gut a guy.”

“No,” Alastor said, sounding very far away, as though lost in a memory. “No, I would have killed you quickly. If I knew you the way I know you now, I would not have wanted you to suffer. I would have killed you, and consumed you, piece by piece, so that you remained with me, always. Here, there’s no need. We are promised eternity. But on earth, life is so fleeting. To have you slip through my fingertips by any factors out of my control would have been unbearable.”

Angel blinked at him. He’d never been particularly afraid of death, even when he’d been alive. Death just happened. If you waited around for it, fearful of every shift and shiver, you’d drive yourself to an early grave. So Angel had indulged, had enjoyed himself to the absolute brim, and had gone down, in the end, doing the things he loved.

He wondered if that was the case with Al.

“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me, I think,” Angel murmured. He blinked again, slowly, eyes out of focus as he imagined what Alastor had said, in as much detail as his mind would allow for. “How many didja get to keep?”

“Just short of a dozen,” Alastor replied, watching Angel closely.

“They get ya before you could make it ta twelve?”

“No, my death was, amusingly, unrelated to my hobbies.”

“How many didja get to keep down here?” Angel asked next. Alastor’s kiss, gentle and soft, was answer enough.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Look at you,” he sighed. “No one else should ever be allowed. We truly are a pair of monsters, aren’t we my darling?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very mild warning for Val being creepy, and some lovely kinky loving sex in this chapter too (to get rid of the Val)

It went well, for a bit. 

Until it didn’t.

But that was par for the course, for Angel, in life and in death. And the beginning, well, the beginning was fine. Mostly. 

“No drugs,” he moaned against Alastor’s shoulder. Alastor’s cuddling skills were still unbearably rusty, but he would allow Angel to step closer when they danced, and Angel always took full advantage. “No  _ drugs _ , Alastor. You boss me around like nobody’s business and even you never tell me I can’t have my sugar.”

“With addiction comes a whole host of sins,” Alastor said, in a knowing tone that belied just how fucking  _ hilarious _ he found this.

Angel had only lived at the hotel for four days and he thought his brain was going to melt out of his ears. And he was barely there, as it was! Any chance he got, he whistled to the radio, and Alastor plucked him from the suite he’d come to inhabit, drawing him into the bedroom, or the dining room, or even the tub, the first night. 

Tonight, it was the dining room, for dinner and dancing, but even their favorite dances could not distract Angel from the injustice of it all. 

“You’d think they thought they were my Dommes,” Angel muttered to Alastor. “Puttin’ me through my Good Boy paces.”

_ “Have _ you been a good boy?” Al asked him. And Angel lifted his head just enough to look up at him, eyes as wide as he could make them, bottom lip pouted out.

“I’m tryin’ ma hardest, Daddy!”

Alastor’s static felt like pins and needles against Angel’s skin, and he grinned, squirming a little until it went away.

“I’ve been behaving,” he admitted. “They ain’t got nothin’ on you though,” he added. “If they think I’m bein’ a good boy coz they told me to they ain’t never met you.”

Alastor hummed, pleased, and turned them in a brisk step before letting Angel drop backwards, back arched and ribs stark through the dress he wore. Alastor drew one hand up Angel’s chest, over his sternum, up to his throat where he let his hand fold, then tighten. When he pulled him back up again, Angel had that soft look on his face that was damn near close to drugged.

“Perhaps instead of  _ removing,” _ Alastor murmured, stroking Angel’s jaw, before grasping his throat again. “We can  _ replace,” _

Angel grinned.

A week in, Angel moved Nuggs in with him. Charlie had proven, if nothing else, to be true to her word. He was allowed a free room and meals that weren’t half bad. When he brought Nuggs through the front door, it was, surprisingly, Vaggie, who lost her mind over the little creature.

If he was going to leave Nuggs with anyone who wasn’t Alastor, it might as well be the scary lesbian.

Besides, it was  _ probably _ better if someone  _ else _ was seen walking Nuggs around the neighborhood, since Angel had ostensibly sold him for drugs. 

“I’m not your goddamn maid,” Vaggie said, the first time he tried to wheedle her into doing it. Her irritation was somewhat mitigated by the fact that she was on the floor at the time, Nuggs scampering about her, chasing a string she’d procured from somewhere. 

She’d done it, as Angel knew she would. Vaggie wasn’t the type to give a lot of leeway for shit like this, but  _ no one _ could resist Fat Nuggets. 

Three days before Angel’s life went to Hell (again), he very nearly fucked up. He’d gotten too carefree, too cautious. He’d forgotten that Val couldn’t be placated by texts and envelopes full of money left at his office in the studio. 

He went for walks without looking over his shoulder. He called Alastor whenever he felt the urge. He was entirely,  _ stupidly _ carefree when the limo pulled up beside him. 

“Ohshit _ fuck _ I gotta go babe call you later bye,” Angel squeaked, shoving the phone into his pocket as the vehicle pulled up along the curb, as the window slid down and cherry smoke wafted up to fill his vision. 

“Babycakes,” Val cooed from the car. “Why don’t you come in and keep me company for a few blocks?”

There was no legitimate reason for Angel to say no. He wasn’t casing for johns, he wasn’t actively in the middle of being groped by someone, and saying no to Val would only cause suspicion. He absolutely did not need to give Val any reason to ‘remind him’ of his place again.

“Sure, Daddy,” Angel smiled wide and bent deep to look into the window. “I was just callin’ for a ride.”

“Were you?” Val’s smile widened. “Should we wait for them?”

“Nah,” Angel straightened up again and got into the limo. “Their problem they didn’t get here fast enough.”

The limo peeled away from the curb and Angel found himself surrounded by coiling smoke and unwelcome limbs. Val drew him close, then closer still, until Angel was straddling one of his thighs, pressed chest to chest with him.

“So where were you going, baby?”

“To work,” Angel purred back. “Ya told me I had another shoot this evenin’. I wanted to get in early and make myself up all nice.”

“So  _ obedient _ when you want to be, aren’t you sweetheart?”

Angel was swimming with the sharks, and he could see the fins closing in. Any slip ups would be blood in the water, and Val would eat him up. 

“I  _ wanna _ be good, Daddy,” he said with an affected pout. “You know I hate it when you’re disappointed in me.”

Large hands cupped his jaw, tilting his head up until they were eye to eye, nose to nose. 

“You’ve been wanderin’, sweetheart. I come to check on you at home, bring you some treats, and you’re nowhere to be found.

“Been busy,” Angel lied, slipping a hand into his pocket. He drew out a wad of cash, a far more reasonable amount than he was normally given as ‘pocket money’. “Seein’ a few old friends for ya. It’s all here,” he added nervously, depositing the cash in Val’s outstretched hands. “No more big spenders without your approval.”

Val flipped through the money without actually counting it and pocketed it, pushing it deep into that vast coat of his, never to be seen again. Then he cupped Angel’s cheek again, a pat, another, watching as Angel flinched with every gentle touch, waiting for it to turn painful.

“I thought you’d be  _ miserable _ without that little pig of yours, I came to see you last night.”

_ Last night… fuck… _

“But you weren’t in. Bed all made nice and neat, that little stereo of yours on, the bathroom light flickering… where did you go, sweetheart? Hmm?”

“I…” Angel forced himself to laugh, to release his panicked energy that way. “I went to find  _ you _ Daddy. I heard you were gonna come in to check somethin’.”

Val looked at him, eyes seeking over Angel’s face, across his skin where his clothes revealed it. No new marks, no new scars…

“Isn’t it funny, baby, how we  _ just _ missed each other?” Val purred, and Angel nodded, lip between his teeth. “Well. While I have my baby boy to myself,” Angel was pushed back, guided to his knees. He knew what was coming, he didn’t even try to fight it. What would the point be?

After, Angel hid himself behind some dumpsters in an alley and allowed himself to be sick. When his stomach was empty, and his head a little clearer, without the cherry smoke suffocating him, he took out his phone to call Al again.

Al didn’t need an explanation. He answered before the phone had completed its first ring, as though he’d been waiting.  _ “Where?” _ he asked, sharp and to the point.

“Gimme five,” Angel whispered, “ I wanna make sure he isn’t coming back. Just. Just talk to me.”

“ _ Darling _ ,” Alastor’s voice purred, no-nonsense, “ _ where?” _

He wouldn’t leave Angel alone to deal with this. Not even if Angel asked. It was the one thing Alastor wouldn’t do for him, and Angel was so fucking grateful. He rattled off an address, narrowed down the exact alley, and felt shadows wash over him like warm water, pulling him in, and back, until gloved hands pulled him to his feet.

Alastor didn’t wear his emotions on his facial features like most people, but he seemed more expressive the longer Angel knew him. Now, his eyes were narrowed, just slightly, darting over Angel’s face, looking for new marks.

Just as Val had. 

“Not that,” Angel whispered. “It wasn’t that bad. It was just a little bit--”

“Teeth,” Alastor said, his voice bringing Angel back to himself just a bit more. “Then strip, and stand by the bed.”

Angel sucked in a breath. They hadn’t planned for a scene today. They didn’t, always, sometimes one unfolded naturally. But they weren’t even supposed to get together until tonight, and yet here Alastor was.

Giving Angel everything he needed, but didn’t know how to ask for. Putting him back together, piece by piece.

Angel made a sound, a soft and helpless noise, and ducked his head in acquiescence. Alastor cupped his cheek for a moment before leaving him be to find his bearings.

He'd been brought out into the bedroom today, ready to go, and he laughed quietly before making his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

He made quick work of cleaning himself up, and already felt better by the time he stripped out of his clothes and returned to the bedroom as Alastor had told him.

Commanded. As Al had  _ commanded _ him to.

With a shiver, Angel went to stand by the bed, hands moving almost on instinct to fold behind his back, gently grasping the opposite elbow. When he heard Alastor enter the room again, Angel squirmed in place happily, but didn't look back at him.

He didn't get to look at him at all, actually, before a smooth silken piece of fabric was put over his eyes and wrapped around his head.

"Kinky," Angel quipped, though his voice was a little strained already. His entire body was thrumming with the need for Alastor to touch him. With his hands, with something by proxy, it didn't matter. What mattered was  _ who _ was touching him.

“Breathe,” Alastor instructed. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.

Angel rolled his eyes behind the blindfold. He wasn’t so far gone as to need  _ that _ much instruction. Maybe. Probably.

“Didn’t know we were doing yoga,” he said, shivering a little. “I woulda worn my stretchy pants.”

Alastor’s palm struck his cheek, just enough to sting, loud in the quiet room.

And it  _ was _ quiet. No music, no ambient hum from Alastor. Just the sound of Angel’s own heartbeat in his ears, the sound of his soft breathing. 

“Breathe,” Alastor instructed him again. “ _ Silently _ .”

Angel breathed. 

Alastor bound him with hemp rope. They had a variety of tools at their disposal, and Angel could recognize them all by feel. This was the sort of restraint that would leave its mark, ridges in Angel’s skin, the imprint of Alastor’s control. 

“Your third set, please,” Alastor said, tapping Angel’s bound wrists with one finger. Angel blinked, though it did nothing to clear his vision. Usually, he summoned his last pair of arms only if he needed them. Otherwise, he kept them tucked away, for emergencies. He’d let Al bind them a handful of times, but they had to be in a particular sort of mood to go that far. 

Apparently, Alastor wanted him nice and helpless. Angel could work with that, for Al. He let his arms free, tucking them back behind his back for Alastor to tie. 

"There," Alastor said, when he was done. "All at my mercy now. Not going anywhere unless I let you. Unless I tell you to."

Angel bit his lip and released it. "I actually haveta get to a shoot this even--"

Another slap, this one a bit harder than the first had been, and Angel tucked his knees a little closer together.

"They will just have to do without, won't they, unless I decide I want you to be there."

Angel wasn't sure if Al meant it, but in the grand scheme of things, that didn't even matter. What mattered was Al's voice, the way he turned Angel around, gently supporting him by the shoulder so he didn't lose his balance. What mattered was that Alastor  _ had him, _ and held him as he wound the rope behind Angel's bound wrists and up over his shoulder to work a harness across his chest.

"Yes, Al," he sighed.

He wanted to be sweet, almost innocent for Alastor when he was in a mood like this. Not because Al couldn't handle him, boy if anyone could  _ handle _ Angel Dust it was the Radio Demon, but because Angel wished Al had been there back when Angel had  _ been _ this innocent.

He held his breath as Alastor worked deliberate knots into the rope before pressing it to his skin, he whimpered, then cried out helplessly as Al tugged and pinched his nipples before continuing his work.

"Beautiful boy," Alastor murmured, cupping Angel's chin and lifting his head when he'd started to let it drop a little. "Distracting, tempting thing you are."

“Mm, how tempting?” Angel teased. “On a scale of one to ten?”

Alastor’s lips trailed along his jaw, up to his ear, where sharp teeth gave a playful tug. “Ten,” he murmured, low and quiet. Angel let out a happy little sigh, unashamed of his eagerness. Al touched him, when he needed to be touched, and sometimes when he didn’t, but every bit of contact was cherished. Angel had never wanted a man’s touch as badly as he wanted Alastor’s.

“Feelin’ a bit handsy tonight?”

In answer, Alastor slid his hand over the ropes, testing each knot, and then settled his hand just above Angel’s ass. “Step,” he instructed, and Angel did, taking a small handful of steps forward until his knees hit the side of the bed. “Bend.”

Angel pressed his chest to the mattress, unable to keep himself from wriggling a bit, testing his bonds just to feel the knots dig into his skin. Alastor was a deft hand with bondage, no doubt from his hobbies upworld. God, if Angel had met him on earth, he would have  _ let _ Al kill him. He would have walked into Death’s arms with a smile on his face, if it meant he got to have Al first. 

Since when was he such a twice-damned sap?

Something long and thin tapped pointedly at the insides of Angel’s thighs. A cane? 

“Open,” Alastor instructed, and Angel slid his feet just a bit further apart. A sharp snap of the cane -- not just any cane, Angel realized as he squirmed to spread himself even further,  _ Al’s _ cane -- against his thigh was instruction enough.

When Alastor spoke next, Angel wondered if it was even to him, though he listened anyway.

“Always finds a way, doesn’t he? A way to take you from me even when he’s not near you. That  _ bastard.” _

Angel nearly lost it at the fact that Alastor  _ cursed _ but the pain that accompanied the strike had him breathless. He instinctively tried to free his arms, all the knots so intricately woven into the rope immediately pressed to pressure points Angel didn’t even know he had. And that felt… holy shit.

Alastor hummed, stroking the cane up and down Angel’s legs before whipping him with it again. “Not hard enough, perhaps,” he murmured, and Angel could hear the smile in his voice when he heard Angel whimper. “That’s better.”

What followed was a systematic  _ beating, _ but unlike the shit Val pulled on him, this was delivered so lovingly that Angel’s tears were almost entirely due to the intimacy, rather than the pain. Though that was certainly not lacking.

Angel was floating. Above himself, out of hell, farther than fucking heaven even, he didn’t even care. It felt so good to let go, to cry, to scream, to beg and have his words be heard, replied to, adored. He flinched when he felt Alastor’s hand press to his skin instead of the cane, and sobbed harder as Alastor stroked his hair from the back of his neck and bent to kiss him there.

“Look at you,” he sighed. “No one else should ever be allowed. We truly are a pair of monsters, aren’t we my darling?”

“Nnf.” Angel said, with all the eloquence he could muster. He’d meant to say something more. Something like ‘Possessive bastard, ain’t ya?’ or ‘hit me again,’ or ‘fucking Christ, I love you so damn much.’

In hindsight, it was perhaps better that he hadn’t managed to say any of those. Instead, he laid there, limp, chest heaving, soft whimpers escaping him with every exploratory prod of Alastor’s fingers against the welts. Angel wondered if he was bleeding. He  _ hoped _ he was bleeding; sometimes Alastor would dip the tips of his fingers in Angel’s blood, raise them to his lips, and it was the closest damn thing to lust Angel had ever seen on Alastor’s face. He wanted to see it every day for the rest of eternity. 

“A few more, I should think,” Alastor murmured. “You’ve been too pale, loveling. I’ve been neglecting you.”

Angel closed his eyes and whined, tugging helplessly at his wrists. Thank god he was playing cowgirl tonight, Val was gonna flip his shit when he saw these marks, and Angel didn’t fucking care. 

After decades of worrying what Val thought, Angel  _ finally _ didn’t care. 

The last few strikes brought him to screaming, startled and raw. He was hard against the bedsheets, despite the heavy weakness in his limbs, the way the rest of his body had gone completely limp. 

“Stay spread,” Alastor cooed, when Angel’s thighs began to quiver and he tried to shift his stance a bit. “I need you nice and open for me if you want your reward.”

Angel was sure he’d made another incredibly eloquent sound, perhaps ‘weh’ or ‘guh’ or something equally as humiliating, and drooled onto the bedsheets as he listened to Alastor move around behind him. In all honesty, if Al had brought out a chainsaw, Angel would have been happy. He was  _ happy _ for fuck’s sake. Finally with someone who understood him, who wanted to take the time to know him, who beat him and cared for him after, rather than just leaving Angel to put himself back together.

He tensed when he felt something between his legs, and whimpered when he realized it was Alastor’s fingers, slick and deft, as they started to work him open..

There were still nights where Angel was devastated that Al wouldn’t fuck him, nights where he’d push his teasing to the point where the buzz of electricity around them was genuinely displeased. Because what kind of shitstorm was his existence, if he’d never fuck the love of his life and unlife both, but had fucked countless others he cared nothing for?

He sobbed as a toy was pressed against him, arched his back to give Alastor better access, a better view. He felt Al twist the thing, push it in deeper, and let his eyes roll back in pleasure. God it felt good. Even this fucking proxy felt good. But when Alastor leaned over him, close enough that Angel could feel his warmth come through his clothes, and in such a way that the toy felt like an extension of him, he whined.

“Hush,” Al whispered, stroking Angel’s hair again, tucking some behind his ear. “I’m right here, sweetling.”

The latex of his gloves felt almost impersonal, but it was a concession Angel had to make for Al’s comfort, and he would make it every time if it meant that Alastor would touch him like this. 

“I need…” Angel mumbled, squirming, gasping at the shift of the toy inside him 

“Touch?” Alastor asked. “Or a break?”

Either would have helped. More of this, or none of it, something to ground Angel, calm his racing heart. But given the option, he’d ask every time: “Touch, god, please touch me.”

There was a pause, brief, while Alastor decided on exactly what he could tolerate, and then his entire front pressed to Angel’s back, and Angel forgot how to breathe. 

Alastor was  _ pinning him down _ , his whole body atop Angel’s, his weight heavy and solid. Alastor had said once that it was easier to touch Angel when Angel couldn’t touch back, but this was the most he’d ever given Angel all at once, and Angel felt as if every nerve ending was on fire. 

“Please,” he babbled, shifting to try and press back against Alastor. “Please, please, please--”

“Be still,” Alastor growled, as if he too was affected by this, as much as Angel. Affected in a  _ good _ way, as if he wanted Angel so badly that it tore at the corners of his peaceful facade. 

Fuck, what a thought.

The fucking Angel got from the toy was brutal, deep and fast and rough, and Alastor remained pressed against him the whole time, praising him for being so still, for being such a good boy, for taking what he was given and being so grateful for it. Over and over, until Angel was coming so hard his vision whited out. And even there, Alastor was with him, stroking his hair, and nuzzling against that spot behind Angel’s ear that tickled in the best way.

Angel only noticed that something had changed because Alastor had moved his weight off him. After that, he was in a haze. At one point, his third set of arms was freed, and he immediately retracted them with a groan. Then the others, one by one, Al gently rubbing feeling back into Angel’s cooling skin. Angel felt the cold blade of the knife as it cut through the knots and shivered. Or was that because he was cold? Because he was, heaven above, he felt like he was made of ice.

“There, there, pet,” Alastor whispered to him, helping Angel crawl into bed properly. “I’ve got you.”

The blanket Angel made a goddamn nest in every time he slept over was wrapped around him, and then Alastor wrapped himself around that, tugging Angel back against him, holding him so securely, so  _ safely. _

Crying seemed like a good idea. Because it was happening, whether Angel wanted to or not, so he might as well embrace it. 

“I never know what to do with tears,” Alastor admitted, words pressed into the top of Angel’s head like a secret. 

“Just this,” Angel rasped, his voice hoarse from shouting, from  _ crying _ . “This is good.”

Alastor clicked, and a lullaby hummed through the room. Angel let out a shuddering laugh and closed his eyes. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Uhh…. Vaggie? The, uh,_ Radio Demon _is at the door.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never fear! This is the last chapter to **this** story, but nowhere _near_ the last chapter of this seies. That's right. Series. More coming. More coming very very soon.

The day it all went to hell, actually started pretty well. Usually, Angel spent the culling days holed up in the studio where Val could protect him, but he felt much safer in Charlie’s hotel. Heck, she was half angel wasn’t she? Those guys wouldn’t go near one of their own.

Right?

In the end it didn’t matter too much, he’d survived it. Again. And then Cherri texted, asking Angel to come help her defend her turf and he was out the door quick as anything.

“Angel?”

“Just headin’ out,” he shouted over his shoulder. He was gone before he even heard what Charlie was saying after him, something to do with an interview or whatever. Didn’t matter. He had places to be and things to fuck up.

And fuck up he did.

Big time.

By the time they entered the hotel again, Angel was putting up a front of indifference, while inside he was panicking. He’d been on the television, and not in a way that Val would approve of, ratings be damned. In essence, Charlie had outed him live on air, and Angel now had to explain to Val why he was suddenly ‘redeeming’ himself and hiding out in a hotel.

There was never a time he wished Alastor knew how to  _ text _ or even had a contraption at his apartment capable of receiving one than right then. He didn’t even have a fucking fax. Angel had considered homing pigeons, but the ones in hell were a bit stupid and he couldn’t trust that the bird wouldn’t end up in heaven by accident and sheer stupid determination.

The cheap phone Alastor had bought just for Angel to call him was upstairs, tucked safely away where no one could find it, but Angel didn’t dare step outside for a call, now that his redemption arc had been plastered all over every screen in Hell. Nor could he call Alastor from within the hotel, not when he trusted people about as far as he could throw them and Charlie was  _ always  _ underfoot. She’d either kick him out for consorting with the dreaded Radio Demon, leaving him at Val’s mercy, or she’d take out a three page wedding announcement for them in the local paper, leaving him once more at Val’s fucking mercy, this time with Alastor’s neck on the line as well.

He was kicking himself for not snagging the old stereo from his apartment. He could have fiddled with it a bit until it was nothing but white noise and then fought with Charlie loudly enough for Alastor to clue in to what happened and come fetch him from his room. 

God, Al probably didn’t even know. Angel didn’t think he even holed up during exterminations, so unafraid was he of literally anything. He’d probably been out blissfully terrorizing the neighborhood, completely unaware of current events. 

Angel leaned against the bar, nursing a half-melted popsicle and scowling out into the room. He couldn’t even be mad at Charlie, not really. Being mad at Charlie was an awful lot like being mad at a puppy; you just ended up feeling like shit by the end of it, and the puppy  _ still _ didn’t understand what it had done. 

Charlie came back in from outside, leaning against the front door with a sigh. She looked a lot like he felt; run down, overwhelmed, alone. It stabbed at the little bit of Angel’s heart that still felt sympathy. Maybe he should try to comfort her again, or apologize for fucking up her hopeful little dreams. 

It would probably come out sarcastic and full of sleaze, he had never been very good at controlling his temper or his tongue. 

_ Knock. Knock. Knock. _

Angel’s blood ran cold, and he nearly dropped the popsicle. It was Val, it  _ had _ to be Val. Who else would come  _ here _ , this pathetic little rundown hotel with no food and a hopeless romantic running it? After  _ that _ disaster of an interview?

No, it had to be Val, and Angel was so fucking screwed. It would be longer than a week this time, chained up in Val’s basement. He’d be lucky if Val ever let him out again, oh fuck, oh  _ shit-- _

“Uhh…. Vaggie? The, uh,  _ Radio Demon _ is at the door.”

Angel didn’t register the words at first, just listened to Vaggie panicking and Charlie considering the door again. Surely she’d just imagined it, surely it was just someone playing a prank and not actually  _ Alastor _ there…

But when Charlie opened the door again, there he was, in all his glory, Angel’s goddamned creepy knight in shining armour. It took a lot not to run to him and plaster himself against that familiar form, and good thing he didn’t because Al started up on his radio announcer schtick and it was  _ weird. _

Sure, he’d been privy to Alastor’s bright and chirpy side before, he’d even participated, egging him on and quipping back, listening all the time as the buzz around them grew louder, not from annoyance but pleasure. But this was something else, this was an  _ act. _

Angel sat back against the concierge desk and just watched, ogled, if he were honest. He watched the shadows, slipping around the entire atrium without anyone else being aware of them just yet. He watched the way Alastor animated himself, how he tilted his head, brought forth the show of his power by making the entire world around them flicker like a badly tuned television. It was a showreel of everything Alastor was known for in Hell, an audition, and when he held his hand out to Charlie, a deal offered in his palm, Angel suddenly understood why.

He was here for him. He was doing this  _ for him. _

“And what can you do, my effeminate fellow?” Al asked, leaning close enough that Angel was on the verge of just leaning in and kissing him. Instead he bit his lip.

“I can suck yer dick?”

“Ha! No.”

“Your loss,” Angel grinned, sitting back. He’d seen that glint in Al’s eye, that brief wink of energy that told Angel to play pretend, to let this happen.

He was nothing if not obedient.

At least for Al, anyway. 

It was fascinating to see Al-The-Performer, to hear him sing and see him dance with someone else. Watching him touch Charlie and Vaggie, dancing around until Charlie was giggling, was a  _ bit _ much for Angel, but he tried to remind himself that it was all part of the show. It wasn’t like Alastor was touching other people for  _ pleasure.  _

And then he got to watch Alastor  _ fight _ , without ever moving, his face contorted, fist clenched, and god, Angel was in love all over again. 

“What the fuck was  _ that _ about?” He asked Al, as they all sat down to eat Jambalaya that had somehow been cooked in  _ minutes _ . 

“Language,” Charlie reminded him. 

“I haven’t the faintest clue,” Alastor said, his eyes glinting knowingly. Maybe he really  _ didn’t _ remember the weird snake man who’d come banging down their door, but he saw exactly what the debacle had done to Angel.

Alastor’s Jambalaya was no joke. He’d made it for Angel twice before, and each time it had been heaven. He didn’t have to fake the obscene noise that came from his mouth when he dug in, as if he’d never had anything like this in life or in death.

Maybe  _ the girls _ hadn’t, since Angel knew how Alastor occasionally liked to source his meat. It was  _ probably _ ethically purchased, but then, Alastor did need to blow off steam once in a while.

Angel went to his bed pleasantly full and overly eager. It took only seconds after his door was locked for Alastor to fetch him, tentacles pulling him from down amongst the sheets of their bed. 

“You bastard,” Angel said, laughing.

“I was not going to leave you alone there.”

“Number,” Angel asked. Alastor blinked. “What’s your comfort level for contact right now?”

This time when Alastor blinked it was slower, lazier, like a cat would. “Seven,” he offered, the sibilant rolling off his tongue. Angel grinned and almost launched himself at Alastor, nuzzling against his chest and beneath his chin before laying with just his head and shoulders pressed against him. Angel had both sets of arms wrapped around himself as a proxy of a proper embrace, but he was beaming.

“You didn’t have to do that.” he said after a few moments, voice quiet, though no less pleased. “But ya looked hot as fuck walking in like that and takin’ charge.”

“Did I?”

“You know you did,” Angel murmured, shivering happily when a hand rested against his hair and started stroking there.

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone,” Alastor repeated, scraping dull nails over Angel’s scalp. “I won’t, now, not ever.”

Angel turned to press his face against Al’s chest, breathing him in. He didn’t have a heartbeat, none of them did, but Angel imagined one there, steady and thick against his ears.

“What’s the most you’ll let me do?” Angel asked after a moment. Al hummed, curious, and Angel licked his lips, clarifying. “If yer comfort level was like, an eight. Or a nine. I doubt you’d let me get to a ten but… what’s the most you’ll be comfortable with me doing?”

“What do you want to do?” Alastor asked him. 

“Well, sex is off the table, right? Like, pretty much ever? On a scale of 1-10, sex with you is like, 666?”

Alaster’s aura crackled, almost fondly. “We have sex regularly,” he said. “Several times a week, at this point.”

Angel paused. He hadn’t ever thought about it that way. Sure,  _ he _ got off most nights he was with Alastor, but if Al didn’t, was it really having sex?

Apparently, yes. At least to Al. And maybe to Angel, too, if he changed his expectations. There was intimacy, physical contact. At least one orgasm, often more. 

And after, he felt so much fucking  _ affection _ it nearly killed him. 

Maybe Alastor wasn’t getting off, but what they did together surely played the same role sex did in any other relationship.

“Okay,” Angel said, a smile stealing across his face, so wide it actually hurt. “Okay, yeah. We have a  _ ton _ of  _ fantastic _ sex.’

“What else would you like,” Alastor prodded gently. “What else could I offer, that would please you?”

“Don’t offer it if you won’t be happy with it,” Angel said. “I don’t like that shit. Either we’re both in, or we don’t do it.”

“Angel. Would I ever do anything I didn’t want to do?”

“...no,” Angel admitted. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Then tell me. Tell me, and I’ll let you know if it’s feasible.” Alastor reached for him, tugging one of Angel’s hands free so he could lock their fingers together. Angel gave his hand a squeeze.

“Maybe, once in a while, there could be more cuddling?” He suggested nervously. “I  _ love _ when you play with my hair, but I’d kinda… Look, don’t laugh, but I have this fantasy where I sit in your lap and you hold me. And like, that’s it. That’s the whole fuckin’ shebang. I’m in your lap, and your arms are wrapped ‘round me, and we’re listening to an old radio show from when I was five, and you’ve heard it so many times that you’re whisperin’ the lines in my ear.”

Alastor spread his fingers, allowing Angel to stretch his own against them, palm to palm, before slowing them together again.

“I think,” he murmured after a while. “That that is something we can certainly do, on occasion.”

“Yeah?” Angel smiled, pressing himself a little closer. “That didn’t sound mad or nothin’?”

“Not to me,” Alastor replied. Angel happily squirmed against him.

“Good, coz I been thinking about it a lot and it’s… it feels nice. The thought of it feels nice.”

“What else have you thought about?”

“Oh my mind never stops goin’,” Angel laughed. “Ya know what they say, every six seconds a boy thinks about sex. I do it every three. I’m an overachiever.”

“You’ve certainly proven yourself more than capable when it comes to certain strenuous activities,” Alastor agreed.

“I’d… it’d be nice to just straddle you and kiss ya sometimes. Like… really filthy. Messy. The kinda kisses you give me when you have me bound to somethin’ and I can’t move, but this time I can move, just a little.”

“Negotiable,” Alastor said, and Angel snorted.

“We’ll work our way up to it,” he suggested.”five arms tied behind my back instead of six.”

“Your suggestion has been noted,” Alastor said, his tone too dry to be entirely serious. Angel laughed and nuzzled their noses together, just once before giving Alastor a bit more space. 

“Sometimes,” Angel murmured, after a long moment of just  _ being _ together, “you wrap yourself around me when we sleep. But you wait until I’m out of it, like you don’t want me to know.”

Alastor hesitated. After some careful consideration, he nodded. “Touch is difficult for me,” he said. “As you’ve noticed I find it far easier when you are incapacitated in some way and I don’t need to worry about you returning the contact. But I… I  _ enjoy _ knowing where you are, that you are safe and where I’ve put you.”

“You’d keep me in a cage if you thought I’d let you get away with it,” Angel teased. 

“Certainly not,” Alastor scoffed. “A  _ display case _ , on the other hand…”

Angel snorted. “You’re a real charmer, Al.”

“Beautiful glass, with gilded edges,” 

“Al, stop.”

“Perhaps some stained glass for the corners to liven things up.”

“Stop!” Angel was laughing, hands pressed to his face as he tucked his feet up against himself. He loved the idea of being kept. Not like he had been, not like Val wanted to keep him, but like Al wanted to; knowing where he was, that he was safe, that he was alright, but with the freedom to come and go as Angel needed to.

“Perhaps a collar, then, to start,” Alastor said, tucking two fingers beneath Angel’s chin to lift it, stroking over the skin there. “With a little tag on it. Or a bell.”

Angel snorted again but he didn’t argue this one; a collar would be nice. He wore chokers all the time and loved the aesthetic of it. And if  _ he _ loved the aesthetic, he could only imagine how much Al would.

“Then you’ll have to guess,” Angel said, “if it’s me or Fat Nuggets trotting down the corridor.”

“I would feel you,” Alastor assured him. His fingers closed gently around Angel’s throat, just resting there. “My dearheart, I would know you anywhere.”

If there had been a man like Alastor on earth -- well, minus the murdering -- someone who treated Angel like priceless glass, someone who thought him beautiful and worth protecting, Angel might never have ended up down here in the first place. 

And that would have been a shame, because as much as Angel had needed such tender care, he had needed  _ Al _ more. Specifically Al, warts and all. 

“He’s gonna  _ kill _ me,” Angel mumbled, after another comfortable silence. Static flooded his ears, almost immediately. 

“Sweetling,” Alastor cooed, warped almost beyond recognition, his eyes glowing -- and still, Angel saw him with crystal clarity -- “I would very much like to see him try.”

**Author's Note:**

> We've given Alastor a voice/speaking/dirty talk kink. We will absolutely keep him ace in this series, but we're still wondering where to push the bounds in regards to him and Angel, we're learning as we go and we want to thank your lovely ace friends who are helping us keep him as accurate as possible!
> 
> Questions? Comments? Love? Ping us over on [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/sw_writestuff), [TUMBLR](https://stratsandwhiskeywritestuff.tumblr.com/), or [CURIOUSCAT](https://curiouscat.me/sw_writestuff)!
> 
>  _Pick up daddies at the playground  
>  How I spend my daytime  
> Loosen up the frown,  
> Make them feel alive  
> I'll make it fast and greasy  
> I'm on my way to easy_  
> \- Habits, Tove Lo


End file.
